


Broken Together

by Enchantress0223, Mystrana



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Barney is a bad bro, Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, I just want to tag something nice about this fic, I mean probably mostly, I snuck some in, I swear it’s not all doom and gloom, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Underage Drinking, Vaginal Sex, implied domestic abuse, implied dubious consent situations, mcu canon compliant, occasional bits of humor, that’s right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-12 05:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11155011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantress0223/pseuds/Enchantress0223, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystrana/pseuds/Mystrana
Summary: “But me,” Clint said again. “I have a bow and some arrows. She has some sort of -” he peered at the documents - “electromagnetic charges on her wrists.” He looked at some of the shots of her in action. “And thighs that have a kill count of over 100, apparently.”A story that follows Clint and Natasha throughout the years, from the bad times to the good times to the really bad times. Mostly for the guys who have to face them in a fight.orThat time the guy with the arrows faced off against the most talented assassin in the world.andHow two people who thought they were broken slowly came to realize that the world had been lying to them for years.





	1. Teenagers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2017 Captain America RBB ](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/CAP_RBB_2017)
> 
> Fanmix by [ Enchantress0223](https://enchantress0223.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Story by [ Mystrana ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystrana/pseuds/Mystrana)
> 
> Many thanks to our lovely beta reader [ Ellie-nors! ](https://ellie-nors.tumblr.com/%22)
> 
>    
> I got to write for two art pieces for this bang! How lucky am I?! Please enjoy! ~Mystrana 

 

 

Listen to the whole fanmix [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/bordeaucl/playlist/5rGOUOzMHLi5C3pk8qwhGP)

[Broken Together](https://www.dropbox.com/sh/lchckuzps4hooby/AACc2maM7LClLoGPag_GnglJa?dl=0)

 

[Teenagers - My Chemical Romance](https://www.dropbox.com/s/kb2oyn0quih8qu2/1%20Teenagers.mp3?dl=0)

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Amazing Archer!” The announcement boomed as though every pair of eyes in the tent wasn’t already focused on the blond teenager standing on one side of the stage, the one in a flamboyant costume of purple and yellow who had just spent ten minutes hitting every shot he made, forward, backwards, and sideways.

Two pretty girls in purple tutus made a show of bringing a bandana and tying it around his eyes, and Clint Barton stood like a mountain, facing forward and waiting for the crowd to quiet down before he drew back his next arrow, aiming just to the side of where his brother Barney was calmly posed across the stage. He could picture it as though his eyes weren’t covered. His brother leaning against the wood platform, right hand resting casually on his hip.

_Thwang~~ thid._  

Clint allowed a small grin as he heard the shot land and the gasp of the crowd. He fired off three more shots in rapid succession, before making a show of aiming the last arrow right at his brother’s head, only to pull up imperceptibly at the last moment, ensuring the arrow landed just above his head.

Barney let out a little squeak of a sound that had Clint tearing off his blindfold as the crowd went absolutely wild with cheers and whistles. The arrow was above Barney’s head, but he could see where it had just barely grazed his scalp. No one in the audience noticed as they stood and clapped and cheered, and Clint pasted a smile on his face and waved and bowed.

The moment they were out of the tent, Clint was walking in step with his brother, glaring. “What the fuck, Barney?” he demanded. “Why were you moving during that last shot?”

“Christ, Clint,” his brother, older by two years but just as immature, replied. “It was just for fun. I wanted to see if you could hear me get up on tiptoe.”

“You’re lucky I did,” Clint replied. He sighed as they headed to one of the trailers in the back of the lot. It was old, small, and smelled like cows. “I’d prefer to not take off your head because you’re having _fun_.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Barney said, giving Clint a playful push, “I’d trust you with my life. That’s what brothers do.”

Clint sighed again as he dug out a key from his pocket while Barney rolled his eyes and gave the trailer door a heavy shove from the corner, popping the flimsy excuse of a lock. The inside of the trailer reflected the outside; there was a dingy table next to a counter, a beat up couch made up as one bed and an actual bed that didn’t look any better near the back. The bed came right up to the small bathroom area, a toilet and cramped shower stall.

It was as close to home as they were going to get. Barney headed to the cabinet and pulled down a bottle of vodka.

“To another successful show,” Barney said, pouring a shot. He pushed a second over to Clint, who tossed it back, ignoring the burn of the liquor and shaking his head. The end of another performance.

“Another successful show.” Clint pushed the shot glass to the side and headed towards the couch. “But let’s keep the alterations to the tricks to a minimum when we’re in an actual performance, ok?”

“Whatever you say, little bro.” Barney watched Clint lie down and shook his head. “Hey, don’t be thinking about sleep now,” he added, grabbing a hat from the counter. “Don’t forget Buck wants us out there working the crowd til close.”

Clint stretched out on the couch, which crunched and popped with every movement. “Ugh,” he replied. “I’m just gonna nap for a few and I’ll be out there in an hour, ok?”

He closed his eyes and stayed quiet, listening as Barney did another shot, put the glasses in the sink, and left, the trailer door creaking shut behind him. Clint waited a few more minutes before sitting up, the couch protesting every movement. It was a wonder he ever actually got rest on that thing.

Listening for others another minute more, Clint crossed the small trailer to the corner behind the table. The floor looked the same as the rest - a little dirty, a little bit of something growing on the edge of the linoleum - but it peeled back easily and from underneath the bit of plywood floor, Clint pulled out a small bag, a dirty backpack that might have once been purple but had since faded to something best described as puce.

He wondered, not for the first time, not even for the hundredth time, what exactly he thought he was going to do as he counted the small stash of money in the bag, _still all there_ , he thought, and put it back in the bag. The circus wasn’t so bad - the performances were fun, he could count on a roof over his head and food wasn’t hard to come by.

Footsteps fell by the door of the trailer, and Clint shoved the bag back into the floor. _This_ was the part that he hated.

“Clint, naptime is over,” Buck’s loud voice rang out as he knocked, more for show than courtesy, and let himself in.

Clint was sitting at the table, making a show of his own of lacing his shoes. “I’m all ready,” he said, forcing himself to look at the larger man. Buck was all solid lines and smarm, the kind of guy you didn’t want to fight one on one and, under the stage name Trickshot, he had taught Clint everything he knew over the last five years. “I just needed a minute.” He pulled a nondescript baseball hat on and headed out to the crowd of people enjoying the carnival food and rides.

Buck had taught him the only two skills he had in life, how to shoot an arrow and how to pick a pocket. “It’s all the same,” Buck had said, “Find the target and don’t miss.”

_And those skills aren’t going to pay the bills on my own,_ Clint thought. He watched the crowd for a beat, wondering how many families he was going to upset tonight. _I gotta get out of here._

Another beat.

_But I’m staying. Maybe I’m no better than any of the others._

 ~~

The days passed and the circus moved towns, heading to upstate New York, but everything stayed the same. Same trailer, same tricks, blending like badly applied watercolors into the life that Clint Barton knew. He wished he had the ability to fix it, to make it something nicer. But day after day, it seemed impossible.

“What’s eating at you, little bro?” Barney asked over dinner, canned beans heated with some cut up hot dogs. It was pretty tasty, but at the same time, it might as well have been dirt in Clint’s mouth.

“I’m just tired, Barney,” Clint replied. “Hey. My birthday is only a month away, you know.”

“Gonna be over the hill. No wonder you’re exhausted. Turning the big 1-7, right?” Barney replied. He grinned when Clint shot him a look. “I’ll always think of you as my little brother. You’re always gonna be like eleven to me.”

“Preteens don’t usually entertain a crowd of people and then rob them after,” Clint said quietly but firmly. He put down his spoon.

Barney sighed. “Don’t go there again, Clint. We’re taking a few wallets, what, just grabbing their cash. We’re not stealing their identities or anything, like, _really_ criminal.” He helped himself to some more beans.

“It doesn’t seem justifiable,” Clint flung his hand up in frustration. “They’re here to have a relaxing evening, eat some funnel cake, maybe throw that funnel cake up on the ferris wheel, whatever. I’m just done with this.”

“Done,” Barney repeated. He shook his head. “Don’t be crazy. What are you going to do?”

Clint thought about the money sitting under the floorboard, a few dollars from each wallet set aside. “I don’t know,” he responded truthfully. “I just can’t stay here.” He called it his “pay-it-forward” fund, though he doubted the families missing the money would agree. He wondered if he’d ever be in a position to pay it forward himself.

“Well you can’t _leave_ ,” Barney replied around a mouthful of beans. “We’re family. And family sticks together.”

Clint closed his eyes. He wondered if it was normal for almost-seventeen-year-olds to be this tired. _Probably not,_ he thought, grumpily. _If I really had a family, I’d probably be doing stupid shit like blowing off an exam or … I don’t even know. I’d have parents who gave a fuck about me._

_But I don’t._

~~

When he woke up on his birthday, Barney wasn’t in the trailer, but he had left a little hostess cupcake on his couch bed. Clint smiled as he unwrapped the little treat. Maybe things weren’t as bad as he thought they were. Criminals didn’t give each other birthday presents, right? Families gave each other presents. He licked the chocolate crumbs off of his fingers before heading across the circus grounds to the practice tent. Buck was already there, setting up some targets.

“Happy birthday, kid,” he greeted Clint, who thanked him.

The two of them got to work, blocking a new series of shots to be performed at the next set of shows, planning each step, and introducing aerial elements. Buck watched, undeniable pride in his eyes as he watched Clint dive through the air, hitting every target as he fell in a graceful arc, held above the ground by silk ropes.

“Alright!” Clint grinned, enjoying the adrenaline rush tingling throughout his body. He had been practicing his aerial tricks for weeks, but this was the first run through with arrow work, and he ran from target to target, confirming his hits.

Buck nodded approvingly. “You got a good eye there. I’d swear you shoot better from the top of the tent.”

“I see better from a distance,” Clint shrugged. “People are gonna go nuts for this.”

Another nod. “Hey, Clint, come by my place tonight,” Buck said as they finished practice for the day, unstringing their bows and packing up their quivers. “I’ve got a birthday present for you.”

Clint couldn’t help but smile. “Well - thank you, I appreciate it!”

He walked back to his and Barney’s trailer to go and change. Buck had gotten him a present last year too, some brand new arrows. And the year before that, a leather quiver. Some small voice in the back of his brain tried to reconcile that with the pickpocketing, and couldn’t quite make it work.

“Happy birthday, bro!” Barney was inside, sitting at the tiny table. He raised a shot to Clint, and tossed it back.

Clint shook his head. “I enjoyed the cupcake this morning.”

“Hope you had some real food with it,” laughed Barney, doing his best stern parent face. “All that sugar’ll rot your teeth out.”

“I brushed twice, _dad_ ,” Clint said, and he was grinning. Barney got up, grabbed another shot glass from the cabinet, and poured one for Clint. The liquor burned his throat, and Clint put the glass down as he made his way to the overhead compartment above his couch bed that had his change of clothing.

“Heading out? Big plans?” Barney asked, watching Clint pull down the clothes and head towards the back of the trailer to change.

“Nah, but Buck said he had a present for me, so I’m going over to pick it up. I’ll be back soon!”

Barney waved him off. “Go on then, have a good time. I’ll see you later tonight.”

When he knocked on Buck’s trailer door, he was momentarily surprised when one of the stagehands, Margaret, opened the door.

“Clint!” she slurred, with a huge smile. “Glad you could make it. Buck’s been telling me that it’s your birthday.”

He nodded. An alarm he didn’t understand how to recognize was sounding in his mind, but Margaret pressed a cup in his hand as she said “happy birthday!” and smiled, and he melted, his hormones doing the thinking for him. He took a sip of whatever was in the cup, fruit juice and alcohol mingling together. It was better than the burn of a shot. He took another drink.

“Good of you to make it,” Buck’s was sitting at a table in the middle of the trailer, and Clint waved as he made his way past the kitchen into the living room. “Margie here was telling me, ah, just what she thinks about you.”

“I’m such a fan,” Margaret blushed, looking away as she admitted, “I sometimes sneak by to watch you practice.”

Clint couldn’t help the rising color to his cheeks either. “Aw, it’s nothing,” he muttered, casting his eyes away, catching a glance of her low cut shirt and copious amounts of cleavage and he went a little weak in the knees.

“It’s really amazing,” she said in earnest. “You make it look so easy! You hit the target every time and I just think that’s so awesome.” Her words slurred from one sound to another. “I just keep wishing you’d look up and -” she blushed again. “And notice me.”

Embarrassed, Clint took another long sip from his cup. “Of course I’ve noticed you, Margaret,” he muttered into his cup. “You’re gorgeous.” Even quieter. “And I’m, ah, just me.”

Margaret pressed herself up against him, all curves and warmth, and Clint was sure he turned beet-red.

“Hey, guys, I’ll be right back,” Buck excused himself, holding up his cell phone. Clint couldn’t remember hearing it go off, but then again, he wasn’t really paying attention to that at all, not when he was inches away from Margaret, who was tentatively wrapping her hands around his waist. Buck got up, and went out the door, and his footsteps faded away into the grass, and Clint looked at Margaret and then at his cup.

“This is strong,” Clint said after a moment, “I need to sit down.”

“Me too!” giggled Margaret as though Clint had told the funniest joke. Her laughter was contagious, and Clint started to giggle too, taking a drink and coughing when it tried to go down the wrong way. That only made Margaret giggle more and Clint was laughing and coughing and then he leaned forward and they were kissing, and it was tentative and messy and felt so good all at once.

He had no clue what to do with his hands, but she seemed to like it when he touched her, so he did that, and they giggled and kissed and somehow their clothes ended up in a pile on the floor, as they fumbled through their first time together.

~~

Clint woke up with a headache, and his bed made a strange sort of noise when he turned over, a kind of an “ugh,” and then Clint sat up, noticing the person next to him in bed and noticing that he wasn’t in his own bed.

He glanced around, recognizing Buck’s trailer and pieces of the previous night jumped back out - the way Buck had left, the way Margaret had pressed up against him, the way they had -

“Clint?” Margaret opened her eyes, looking up at him. He watched her face go through a series of emotions as she remembered what had happened last night and then she was scrambling to the side of the bed, grabbing at the sheet to cover herself up. “What - what did you do to me last night?”

“Do to you?” Clint asked, confused. His head was pounding and Margaret was talking so loudly. “I don’t know, I don’t remember!”

Margaret all but jumped out of the bed to start finding her clothes. “Just please tell me we didn’t -”

“I don’t know,” Clint said. He had no clue, but he remembered being close to her and his stomach hurt, like there was a rock weighing him down.

“You took advantage of me,” she said, and she started crying, and Clint sat there, naked and bewildered. He trying moving towards her, to maybe pat her shoulder or apologize or something, but she just glared. “Don’t touch me! I -”

“I’m sorry!” Clint said, his hands up defensively and he looked at the walls, away from her. “I swear to god I only did what I did because thought you were ok with it.”

Margaret held her head in her hands. “I drank way too much,” she said, frowning. “He made that way stronger than usual.” She sighed, putting a hand out to Clint, to keep him at arm’s length. “Look, I just, I know it wasn’t all your fault, but I don’t want to see you right now, Clint.”

He nodded, grabbed his clothes, got dressed, and got the hell out of the trailer, confused and angry, and his head hurt like hell.

As he ran over grass wet with the early morning dew, Clint couldn’t hold back how angry he was. This wasn’t how Clint had pictured his 17th birthday. It wasn’t how he had pictured his entrance into adulthood. Where had Buck gone anyhow? Everything seemed to click into place like a puzzle with a few wonky pieces, and he turned and stalked into his trailer, where Barney was sitting at the table, eating cereal and looking mildly surprised when Clint burst in.

“What the fuck, Barney?” Clint all but shouted. “This is so fucked up. He got a girl, underage, drunk, trying to set her on me when she can barely stand -”

Barney rolled his eyes. “Say no more, little bro. I can’t wait to collect my twenty dollars and a good, hearty ‘told you so’ tomorrow.”

Clint stopped, mid-rant. “Collect your twenty dollars?”

“Buck was sure his little birthday present would help you loosen up, and I bet him twenty he was wrong.” Barney ate another mouthful of cereal and then gestured at Clint with his spoon. “And, exhibit A: right here. Good try, Buck,” he called back, and Buck stirred on Clint’s couch bed and grunted, clearly not about to wake up for this.

Clint threw up his hands, unable to decide whether he was mad, angry, upset, embarrassed, or just hungover. But he couldn’t do it, not any more. “I’m done, Barney. You can come with me or not, but I’m done.” He didn’t bother to ask Barney to move, he just pushed the table roughly over, ignoring Barney’s protests and the bowl of milk crashing onto the floor as he peeled back the floorboard and grabbed his backpack.

Slinging it over his shoulder, he stayed just long enough to grab his bow and quiver of arrows, and his change of clothes and he headed to the door, pausing and looking back for just a moment. Barney was stunned, looking like he was trying to figure out when Clint would stop and let him know it was all a joke. Even Buck had sat up, the bed creaking and protesting.

“I guess I’ll know where to find you if I want to see you again,” Clint said, meeting Barney’s eyes. Barney looked away.  “Wish this could be different.”

He strode in the direction of the exit of the fairgrounds they were currently camped on. He hoped to hell they weren’t too far in the middle of nowhere as he let his anger carry him past various people calling his name, some in concern and some in indifference. He ignored them all, Margaret’s voice playing in a loop in his mind. _You took advantage of me._ He shuddered. He didn’t want to be that person. He wouldn’t be that person. He had to get away. He passed through the exit of the fairgrounds and picked a direction, and kept going.

Clint looked back, once, when he had gone some handful of blocks. He couldn’t see the trailers parked in the distance anymore. There was no one following him. He looked up at the sky. The sun was starting to rise higher and he looked in his backpack, mentally calculating how much money should be in there, knowing that it wasn’t going to be enough to be on his own for long.

The heat beat down on him as he walked. Sure, he only had two skills, but Clint Barton wasn’t _stupid._ He’d figure something out. He always did. He just wished he had someone to cover his back, someone he could really, honestly count on.

He wished he had a family.


	2. Versions of Violence

[Versions of Violence - Alanis Morisette](https://www.dropbox.com/s/rwl09b0tr2lhtps/2%20Versions%20of%20Violence.mp3?dl=0)

 

The knife was silver studded in red, blood that didn’t drip but rather clung to the steel like a small child to their mother. Natalia withdrew the knife from the body in front of her in an easy motion, whipping it to the side and connecting solidly with the man trying to sneak up on her. He screamed, clutching at his side.

The lights blinked on down the hallway, bright and overhead and sudden, but she didn’t let the change in lighting disrupt her mission. Two targets eliminated, one to go. She would have preferred to avoid the extra casualties that were about to mount, as a group of armed men flanked into the hallway, but what were a few extra bodies to get the job done?

She flashed a warning smile at the nearest man before jumping, using him as a launch pad to reach the second, letting the momentum carry them to the ground as she twisted her legs around his neck. Then she was back up and moving before the first could turn back to face her.

Men were shouting and someone was trying to shoot at her, but she wove between them, getting off a few shots of her own, confident that they would hesitate just long enough to allow her passage. They did, and she incapacitated the closest, throwing him back at the last two to slow them down.  She turned the corner at the end of the hallway, noted the route was clear and dashed down to the last room.

Locked, of course, and Natalia didn’t waste the two seconds to try her luck - she pulled the lockpick from her pocket and went right to picking the lock, the shouts of the men behind her coming quickly. They were about five feet away, starting to lunge when the door clicked, and Natalia slid into the room, slamming it shut and activating the lock system again.

What she didn’t expect was for her final target to be sitting in a chair in the middle of the room and she especially didn’t expect him to start clapping when he saw her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, but she didn’t let it phase her.

She flipped her hair behind her shoulders, scanning the room for additional warm bodies and dropping into her fighting stance. People had done crazier things before she killed them.

“Ivan said that you were unparalleled,” the man in the middle of the room said. Stanislav Volkov had been working with the Russians, running weapons for them up until last year, when another country had offered a higher payout for the same work. It had taken awhile to find him again, but he had resurfaced, and Natalia’s mission had been deadly simple - search and destroy him and his top underlings. “But this is better than I expected!”

He leered at her from the chair, his fingers steepled under his chin.

“Whatever you need to say, old man,” she said in Russian as she continued to scan the room for hidden traps before she took advantage of his too-vulnerable state. “Just make sure your last words count for something.”

A noise like a fly buzzed in her ear and Natalia listened as her comm piece, usually more for show than communication, crackled to life.  
  
“Stand down, Black Widow. Stand down,” came the order, the voice of her handler Ivan clear between the crackles. Though her face remained impassive, her heart began to beat ever so slightly faster as she complied and relaxed her fighting stance.

Stanislav’s grin widened as he watched her stand, and he waited. Natalia stared him down, pinning him with a gaze that could have finished her job for her.

“New parameters,” Ivan continued over the comm. “Comply with the target. He is aware that we will be extracting you in thirty minutes.”

Natalia didn’t get this far in her missions without a very good understanding of implications. She spat in Stanislav’s direction, wondering how much he had paid for this arrangement. As he stood up from his chair, towering to his full height and coming forward to claim his prize, Natalia retreated into her own mind, going to her field of flowers, a place she would never get to see, not in person. But she knew it well: the soft blades of grass blowing in the breeze, the colorful blooms fragrant and the sun warm on her face. Like she had seen in a picture, once. So different from the cold metal of the wall behind her, so much better than the unwanted hands touching her all over.

~~

Natalia showered, the cool - never hot, the pipes only ran lukewarm at best - water running down her form, highlighting handprints and bruises, cuts and scrapes. Some marks were the normal cost of the mission. The others she rubbed with soap, cleansing the skin as though it would wash away the marks left deep inside.

The debriefing had been short. Stanislav had complied with the payment demanded to spare his life and had tossed in extra for other perks; the other two had not. Or maybe they weren’t even asked. That part was glossed over. Ivan didn’t apologize and didn’t explain any more and Natalia didn’t ask. It wasn’t her place. She was merely the weapon they used to achieve the ends they wanted.

She finished showering, brushed her teeth, and went to her bunk.

The others were already in their respective bunks, eight women who lived their lives together and never spoke more than an acknowledgement to the others before leaving and returning from a mission, lest they risk coming across as _friends_ and requiring re-education.

Natalia looked up at the gray ceiling, replaying the fight in the hallway, noting which offensive moves had worked well and which needed improvement. She would practice them one hundred times tomorrow morning. Natalia couldn’t lie; she loved the thrill of the mission. She was the Red Room’s best operative, and her instructor, Madame B., was always pushing her skills further.

_“Again,” came the instruction, and Natalia shot, three bullets in quick succession, each hitting the target as surely as if she had been point-blank._

_“Again.” Three more bullets._

_“Again.” A flash of silvery steel as her instructor knifed her arm. Three more bullets, one jerked to the side with the cut. Natalia turned her head, looking at her instructor and failing to conceal her surprise._

_“Again.” The knife moved again, but this time, Natalia parried it with one of her own from her waistband and made her three shots, each of them dead-center._

_Madame B. nodded approval, without a smile._

_“Again.”_

Natalia pulled the utilitarian blanket of her bunk up to her shoulders and turned to the wall, where no one could see her frown.

_Is this all that life has to offer me?_

The thought entered and left her head all at once, a forbidden thought, a crazy idea. Yes, there was a world outside of this room. She had been outside the room many times. _But._ Natalia closed her eyes, the blooms in her field dark and fading.

_It is not a world for people like me._


	3. Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes

[Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes - Fall Out Boy](https://www.dropbox.com/s/ailr2o54n7f17lz/3%20Disloyal%20Order%20of%20Water%20Buffaloes.mp3?dl=0)

 

The thing about being good at shooting arrows was that arrows didn’t pay bills. So when some Nick “I like leather and don’t ask about the eye” Fury had shown up at the closet of a room Clint was renting in exchange for maintaining the grounds of an old plantation (“yeah, I can maintain a yard, sure”), Clint had sat down and listened. He had even let the man sit on the more comfortable bed.

“Heard some talk that there’s a guy going around at night stopping petty crimes with arrows,” Fury said, straightforward, looking to the wall where Clint had hung up said arrows and bow. “I assume this crazy ass crimefighter is you?”

“Reasonable guess,” Clint replied, tipping back his chair. There was no worry about it falling over, because the wall was less than three inches away. The walls connected to floors that were delightfully free of mold, which Clint considered a major upgrade, even if the space itself was lacking.

“You got something about helping people?” Fury continued, holding Clint’s gaze. A lesser man might have wilted. Clint Barton was nineteen and didn’t care.

_ If I keeping helping people, I won’t slip up and start hurting people. I won’t be like my brother. _

“Yeah, I guess I want to help people. Like Captain America,” he replied. Strangest job interview he’d ever had, not that he’d had many. Turns out people don’t want to see “seven years performing in the circus” on a resume. Told him it made him too unpredictable. Too many concerns over his lack of a GED. “I don’t have anything better to do with my time.”

“Great.” The response was so swift that Clint wondered if his answer had mattered in any way. “Report in on Monday. 0800.” Fury gave him a card, stood and turned in a swirl of leather, and was gone. Clint stared after him for a long minute, before looking down at the card.    
  
“SHIELD, huh,” he muttered to himself. He looked around his room - a bed, a chair, and a cabinet on the wall filled with beef jerky and a water bottle that he filled with the hose on the grounds. He looked out the single window on the wall. The flower beds were well weeded, but the flowers themselves weren’t looking that good. They probably deserved a real groundskeeper. 

~~ 

“Look sharp, newbie,” came the comm link warning and Clint trusted his instincts, dodging to the left and lining up his shot to the subtle sounds of someone moving across the room. A projectile shot past him, missing him by millimeters and his own arrow thrummed on the string at the same time. Unlike his opponent, his aim was true.

“Son of a bitch, Barton.” The voice was muffled under a helmet, but Clint knew the voice of his back up, Amelia, as she came up behind him, clearing the room. Satisfied that they were safe, her voice changed tone, becoming more conversational. “So do you ever miss a shot?”

Clint thought about it for a moment, shrugging as he lined up an arrow, ready to loose in case of an unaccounted assailant. “Not yet,” he finally said. 

She gave an all-clear over the comm link and they waited around for the call to head back. They didn’t talk, just stood and looked over the room. Clint held in a sigh - the quiet gave him time to think and time to think could always be spent better by not thinking.

_ Go in, shoot the bad guys, get the data, leave. _ Clint wandered over to the body across the room to retrieve his arrow.  _ Well that’s not fair. Sometimes we go in, get shot at, don’t get the data, and leave. _ The arrow came out with a shucking sound and Clint shoved it into the side of his quiver to be cleaned and reused. Arrows weren’t cheap.

“You know Fury will let you buy new arrows,” Amelia said. Clint couldn’t read the tone in her voice and without facial expressions, he categorized the statement as “helpful.”

“Old habits die hard,” he replied, thinking about the few months he had spent on the streets right after leaving the circus, trying to scrape by with odd jobs and even an odd birthday party or two. “Every arrow in the quiver counts.”

“You’re something else, Clint,” she said. That, he could tell, was said with a smile. He allowed a grin of his own - it was nice to hear her ditch “newbie” for his name.

~~

Debriefing with his SHIELD team the first few times had been a surreal experience. The commanding officer had been polite, firm, and  _ thankful _ . Clint searched through his memories, trying to remember the last time someone had thanked him for shooting an arrow. It felt nice.

He tapped his fingers and fiddled with a pencil as he tried to pay attention as they went over their latest mission, pointing out highlights and analyzing any missteps. He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he wasn’t really doing much to make a difference in the world. Fury had given him an official welcome speech back when he started that had spoken of terrorist enemies and danger, but mission after mission and year after year went by and there was always another one. Clint tipped back his chair as he listened to the latest debrief with half an ear, his mind drifting to a memory, one of his earliest memories of archery practice.

_ Buck held the bow and arrow and Clint struggled to mimic his stance, inching his legs farther apart and bringing his right arm back just a bit. It still didn’t look right. Buck dropped out of his stance and came over to Clint, repositioning him with a few taps on the arm and back. The stance clicked in that moment and Clint smiled up at Buck, thankful for the help. _

_ He nodded in return, something of a smile playing at his lips as he watched the energetic preteen practice in earnest. _

_ “You’ve got talent, kid. Little bit of hard work, and you’re gonna be as good as me, maybe better.”  _

“You’re going out in the field with Maria next week,” Fury interrupted Clint’s train of thought as he nodded towards Maria Hill, one of the newest hires. She waved, polite and businesslike and Clint nodded back. 

“Let’s do it,” he said.

As it turned out, Maria Hill had a knack for leading the team. Within the year, Fury appointed her the head of the STRIKE team. Clint enjoyed working with her - she was straightforward, efficient and dang good with her pistols.

And now she was standing in front of him, one hand resting on her hip, one hand holding a folder filled to the brim with papers that threatened to blanket the floor at the slightest provocation. “Barton, see me in my office at 1500.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint replied automatically, glancing at the clock on the wall. He had fifteen minutes, which gave him time for a bathroom break and the walk down the hallways. After seven years, SHIELD seemed like home, but then again, Buck had seemed like a reasonable father figure, right up until Clint’s 14th birthday. 

_ “We’ve got a new skill to work on today, Clint,” Buck said, his frown more pronounced than usual. _

_ Clint nodded, heading over to the rack to retrieve his bow and quiver. Buck shook his head. _ _   
_

_ “You won’t need those today,” he clarified. “We’re learning a more, uh, practical skill. Don’t suppose you’ve ever lifted a wallet before, have you?” _

_ “No?” Clint replied, looking up at the man who was the closest to a father figure he knew. He wasn’t completely sure what Buck was getting at, but given the expression on his face, it wasn’t great. Clint’s stomach turned a little and his own frown started to mirror Buck’s. _

_ “Time to learn then.” Buck nodded. “It’s a good skill to keep in your back pocket. Unlike your wallet.” He laughed at his own joke and Clint blinked, watching and learning the technique as the older man continued talking. His same fingers that made an arrow dance across the bow had no problem anticipating the moves.  _

_ Later that night, at dinner in their trailer, Clint explained what happened that day to Barney. He wasn’t sure what to expect. He was hoping his brother would help him, maybe talk to Buck and explain that they were here as part of the circus act only. _

_ “My little partner in crime,” Barney had replied with a grin.  _

_ “What?” _

_ “Yeah, he showed me a couple years ago. That’s where we head when we ‘work the crowd’ at night.” _

Clint couldn’t pinpoint that day as the exact moment he lost trust in people, but it didn’t help. He knocked on the door to Maria’s office, entering when she called out an acknowledgement. The room was large, the desk and bookshelves and filing cabinets filling the space without crowding. There were two chairs in front of the desk, and Nick Fury sat in one of them. Clint sat in the other.

“Thanks for coming.” Maria opened the discussion with a smile and a nod. 

“Anytime,” Clint replied. 

Fury fixed his gaze on Clint. Clint still didn’t wilt. He was twenty seven and he just didn’t care. “We’ve got a special mission for you.”

Clint wondered if the fact that he didn’t notice any alarms going off in his head should be an alarm in itself. He let it slide. “What do you mean, special mission?” Whereas Maria would have given him the details first, he’d learned that the director disseminated information at his own damn pace and pleasure.

Maria handed him a folder across the desk. Clint reached forward to grab it. As he opened it, Fury continued speaking: “The target’s codename is Black Widow. She’s rocketed her way onto our radar last week when she was connected to a data mining of some very confidential databases.”

Flipping through the folder, Clint noted the pictures of they had of this so-called Black Widow. They weren’t top quality - clearly, she knew what she was doing and was rarely caught on a camera. He saw glimpses of red hair obscuring her face and one shot of her profile, her hair in large curls to cover all but the end of her nose. He turned to the next section, pages and pages of potential crimes connected to her. Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Maria confirmed as she saw Clint’s face. “We started digging back and it looks like she’s been busy these past few years. Possibly and probably longer.”

“We need her out of the picture, yesterday,” Fury declared, his fist on the arm of his chair. “This is your mission, Barton.”

“Me,” repeated Clint. He turned over a few more pages. Espionage, undercover work for multiple agencies, hacking - “And we’re sure this is  _ one person _ , not a group of people? This is a hell of a resume.”

Maria and Fury exchanged a brief look and Fury nodded to Maria, who spoke up again. “She’s a graduate of the Red Room - a very intensive program that only the very best of the best finish. It’s not a fluke that she’s flown below the radar for so long.”

“But  _ me _ ,” Clint said again. “I have a bow and some arrows. She has some sort of -” he peered at the documents - “electromagnetic charges on her wrists.” He looked at some of the shots of her in action. “And thighs that have a kill count of over 100, apparently.”

“Barton, your skill set has proven invaluable over the past years. Your instincts have saved lives.” Coming from Fury, that was high praise. Was this what feeling needed felt like? Clint waited, half prepared for the two to start laughing and call it a joke. No one cracked a smile.

“Well, I can do it, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Clint said finally. “Black Widow, huh?” He pointed his fingers like a gun at the picture on the file and pretended to shoot. “I’m coming for you.” 

Some hours later, as Clint sat in his small room after dinner, going over his preliminary plans, he shook his head. SHIELD had hundreds of operatives now, and Fury was going to send him. Clint knew Phil Coulson down in special ops had a whole team that could go at a moment’s notice. There were more qualified individuals in the rooms down the hall. And though there hadn’t really been any evidence to suggest Fury didn’t like him, Clint couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Fury didn’t want him to come back alive.


	4. Seamstress

[Seamstress - Dessa](https://www.dropbox.com/s/ke6bu8blyhhbxkt/4%20Seamstress.mp3?dl=0)

 

Natalia stretched, the line of her leg long behind her and her arms moving forward, reaching in an arabesque. Muscle memory brought her left leg down and then forward and she arched, dancing in a silent room. 

_...repeat, again, higher back leg, lean into the movement, keep your balance... _

She wound through the movements, her hand stretching towards gray walls, gray ceilings, her legs posed over gray floors. The room, empty except for her, did not judge, the beds along the walls empty. Her bunk mates had come and gone over the years, none of them lasting in the program designed to punish any incorrect movement, any error in judgement.

Using the air in her lungs like a springboard, Natalia breathed out and leapt into the air, crossing the room in three powerful movements. She reached the other side, and breathed in. As long as she kept moving, she couldn’t start to think of the mistake she made last week. As long as she kept breathing, she could picture her field of flowers.

The door opened, a near-silent creak announcing the presence of Madame B. The flowers wilted in an instant.

“Natalia.” The word was spoken as both an acknowledgement and a command. Natalia put her foot down gracefully and turned towards her instructor.

“Madame.” A nod of the head. No emotions. Relaxed posture concealing a sudden rush of emotion. Natalia beat the emotion back down, refusing to acknowledge it, refusing to name it.

“Ivan informs me of your latest results.  _ Unacceptable _ .”

“The database was protected with an entirely new level of encryption,” Natalia said, standing still as her instructor moved towards her. “I have prepared a work-around.”

Madame B. reached her perpetual pupil and circled her once. “Good. Doesn’t change the fact that they’re coming for you now.” She paused behind Natalia’s back. “What will you do?”

“Kill anyone who gets in my way,” Natalia replied, her voice even and low and solid. “I am not afraid.”

She sensed, rather than felt, as Madame B. whipped out a knife from under her sleeve, raising it to punish her student, and Natalia spun around, a controlled whirl of motion, disarming her instructor and bringing the older woman to the ground. Something inside of her broke, a dam letting out all of the years of punishment for the tiniest infractions, the years of training until her body was nothing but a weapon, used by handlers who forgot that even the best weapons will fail without proper care. 

“Shall I go again, instructor?” Natalia asked, her voice so far from a shout and yet it echoed in the room like a roar. She held her position. Her breath was slow. Rhythmic. She didn’t quite understand the anger that boiled beneath her skin, had spent years beating it down, but it felt right and she let her instinct guide her behavior. She knew not one person could have gotten through that database without literally being the person who wrote the program and how dare they punish her for that? Natalia stared down her instructor, daring her to say anything, to do anything. 

“Natalia,” the older woman replied, her eyes searching Natalia’s for a fraction of a moment before setting like stone, refusing to yield. “We are everything you are. Remember you are nothing without us.”

It was the wrong answer. But as Natalia slowly gathered her few possessions, she realized that there wasn’t a right answer. She left the bunk room, her instructor’s body lying limp behind the door. That felt right.

~~

Natalia walked. It wasn’t as fast as stealing a car, but there was no sense drawing attention to herself now and besides, she hadn’t seen a car on the road yet. She put one foot in front of the other, as though the physical distance between here, where ever she was, and the Red Room would make a difference. 

The road was quiet, and she walked for hours, thankful for her black clothing to provide some small measure of camouflage and warmth in the cooling afternoon. 

Up ahead was a little town, perhaps a little too small for her to stay long. She weighed the consequences of staying in the woods against staying among people, and wound up in a small room for the night in the tiny inn.

She scouted the perimeter as casually as she could, kept an eye on every person that passed her and managed to be almost pleasantly surprised when she returned to the inn and spotted her old handler Ivan sitting at a table near the back. He wasted no time in waving her over.

Natalia scanned the room as she went in his direction. He was alone.

“It’s a pleasure to see you,” he said as she slipped into the seat across him.

“What are you doing here?” Natalia replied. The innkeeper came over with a mug of beer for Ivan and he nodded at her. A second beer appeared shortly.

“I have heard a rumor,” Ivan said. He studied his beer before lifting his head and meeting Natalia’s eyes. “That a little sparrow has left her nest.”

“People hear a lot of things,” she said, almost automatically. She stared back, trying to place the emotions he brought up. Nothing. His square face, rough around the edges, white eyebrows and hair. One might almost think he was but an elderly grandfather, here to visit a treasured granddaughter.

“People hear things quickly,” he added, for emphasis.

“They can hear what they want,” Natalia said. She took a sip of her beer. It was refreshing, after the miles she had walked. “I am not worried.” Another sip. “I am curious as to why you are here.”

Ivan smiled broadly. “I am not going to bring you back, little sparrow. I thought, perhaps, I will go where you go.”

Natalia considered his words. Ivan had been her handler for many years now, a quiet man who made no waves and - as she would never forget - sold her for the right amount of money. “I should break your neck just like I broke hers,” she said, but the words lacked venom. She wasn’t sure how to feel. He was like her instructor - the closest to family she knew.

“Perhaps I deserve that,” he said, allowing each word to ring in the silence. “We are all doing what we must to survive.”

That set a fire in her heart. “Some of us have had much less choice than others,” Natalia said. She stood up, the chair about to tip over. She thought of the girls who had been by her side when she was younger, those that had been broken and destroyed in the name of ‘perfection.’ “I think you should leave, if you think that you can compare yourself to me.” Yes, anger. She felt anger. She was angry at him.

“You will not be safe on your own,” Ivan said, and took a long drink. “Where is your place in this world? Where can you go?”

“I can go where I please,” she said, and she went upstairs, down the hall to her room and flipped the flimsy excuse of a lock in place. 

And while her perimeter check had been thorough, she had not thought to look quite high enough. Across the yard of the inn, where the forest met the grass, a lone figure sat in the tree, watching what he could through binoculars.

Clint shrugged back in his perch, considering what he had heard in the inn before he had snuck out when the tone of the woman’s conversation with the older man had become heated. He didn’t need to look at a picture to be sure he had found his target. 

~~

Natalia became aware of her tail the next morning, when she got a cup of coffee before heading out. Ivan was nowhere to be seen, but she didn’t count on him remaining absent. He knew her too well, and she hoped she knew him just as well.

No, this tail was different. She got glimpses of blonde hair and noted he was tall and that was about as much as she knew. He kept a distance, longer than most tails might. 

_ Then again, it is not like I have anywhere to disappear to. He is biding his time. _

She stole a motorcycle from a side street, hotwired it while she monitored her surroundings in the side mirrors. And their game started in earnest.

The played cat and mouse for a week. He followed her west, as she moved towards St. Petersburg. Somewhere on the route, she almost lost him in a city she remembered from one of her missions. But he had popped up on her peripheral vision a day later, right on the outskirts of St. Petersburg.

_ Enough already, _ she decided that morning.  _ I don’t know what he wants, but it is time for him to learn that I am not a toy to be played with. _

Clint watched in amazement as the Black Widow abruptly stopped walking on a sidewalk full of people, turned around, and started stalking towards him. He realized much too late that her eyes were locked on to him and he had no place to go.

“Hey,” he said, with a wave and an easy smile. “Been meaning to say hello myself.”

She did not return the smile. She pushed him to the side of a building. People walked past, ignoring the two. Her voice was low and devoid of emotion. “I do not care who you are with or  what you are here for. If you continue to follow me, you will not wake up tomorrow morning. Do you understand?”

Clint put his hands up, attempting to placate her and wondering, not for the first time, what the hell he was doing. This was not his forte. Hitting things with arrows, good. Tracking super-spies and eliminating them - clearly not good.

“Do - you - understand?” she repeated, each word punctuated with a heavy jab to the side that she somehow managed to make look like a hug to any nosy bystanders.

The man seemed to get the hint. He had his hands up and he looked appropriately red around the ears. Natalia scoffed. If he had been tracking her, clearly that was his only skill. But, she had to admit, at least he seemed to be wearing his emotions on his sleeve. It was a welcome bit of openness she didn’t realize she wanted. 

He finally spoke, “I got it. But look. Here’s the deal -”

“There is no deal,” she replied, stepping even closer to the man (was he really that stupid or did he have a plan in the ridiculous blond head of his?) and activating a small charge on her bracelet. “Leave me alone.” 

Clint yelped when the charge hit him like a small but incredibly sturdy wall. As the people around them turned to look, his target slipped into the crowd and was gone. A week’s worth of tracking for nothing.

Not nothing - he now had a talented assassin mad at him. That actually seemed worse. He needed to sit down for a minute.

~~

The Red Room. Clint was starting to shudder every time he heard that phrase. He had spent the next few days pointedly ignoring his target and hoping she noticed his lack of being around. The fact that he woke up every morning alive seemed to suggest that she did. And St. Petersburg really was a lovely town to be a tourist in.

He had gone over the few SHIELD documents back at home highlighting the program, what it entailed. But here, across the ocean, he had found more information and there wasn’t one thing that he had learned that he wanted to learn.

_ I thought  _ I _ had it bad. _

A picture was starting to form - a young girl taken from parents she would never know, trained and indoctrinated to a lifestyle she never asked for. She never had a choice, but now it was all she knew. 

_ I didn’t have much of a choice, but I had a choice. Fuck. _

~~

Natalia was pleased to have gotten her message across to the curiously inexperienced spy. He had not appeared for the last three days. She checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror and smirked. She knew he had not gotten  _ better _ in that time.

She left the bathroom of the cafe, sitting outside at one of the sidewalk tables, watching the people go by. It was early enough to see the rush of people going to work, hundreds of people in business attire going to perfectly boring jobs, toiling away the day before going home to perfectly normal families.

It just looked so alien. A different world. No one looking over their shoulders for tails, no one mentally cataloguing each passerby. Natalia felt the outline of the knife under her waistband. She was certain the next ten, fifteen, hundred people passing by would be unarmed. She knew how to wear three unnoticed knives in a tutu. 

_ This is not a world for me. _

Natalia closed her eyes, picturing her field of flowers, but they remained wilted and would not grow, even in her imagination. She paused, scanning and cataloguing the people around her. Safe for the moment. She could visit a garden. She could dare to be normal.

Leaving some money on the table for her coffee, Natalia stood and began walking. She couldn’t quite recall the location of the Summer Garden, but managed well enough. There were no fields of flowers, but even as she entered the park, she relaxed, her shoulders down and unburdened, though she did not stop scanning the area as she moved. 

“Oh, shit, -” she heard someone mutter and there, across the way in a purple tank top and black pants, a backpack at his side, was the American spy. Natalia raised and eyebrow and headed over, enjoying the way his eyes widened.

“Good afternoon,” she said politely, as though she had not threatened his life just a few days ago.

“Shit, look, I didn’t think I’d run into you here -” he muttered, running a hand through his short hair and messing it up in a most adorable way. He looked at her but refused to meet her eyes. “I was just, y’know, taking a bit of pleasure with my business.”

“I am your business?” Natalia laughed. “My. And I was worried they would send someone competent.” She cut the laughter and focused on his face with laser precision, enjoying the way he squirmed under the scrutiny. 

“Look, I’m leaving tomorrow, ok?” Clint said. “I can show you my plane ticket and everything - well, actually, I can’t, I shouldn’t, so I won’t. See? I know some things! But I can show you the back of the ticket, so you see I have it. I’m going to report back and say you’ve disappeared. You can just, you know, live your life now. It’s yours to do what you want instead of what you’ve been forced to do.”

Natalia raised an eyebrow. She was about to ask him why he would do that when a sudden movement to her right caught her attention. She saw a flash of metal and dove for cover behind a nearby bench as a shot rang out, flying through the air where she had just been standing.

People screamed and scattered and she focused on the shadows behind trees as her ears rang in the aftermath of the bullet. Her hand went to her waist for her knife, and she grabbed it, jumping from cover and flinging it with precision and strength. At the same time, she realized the American next to her had produced a collapsible bow and arrow from the backpack and was aiming in the same direction her knife landed. His arrow thrummed through the air, landing right across from her knife, pinning their target to the tree at the shoulders.

Said target looked a lot less thrilled to be at the garden now. He still had a gun in his hand, but couldn’t bring it up fast enough to aim before Clint had sent another arrow flying, knocking the gun out of his hand.

Natalia was already three fourths of the distance to the tree and Clint jogged to catch up.

“Even if you leave me be, someone else will come,” she said, almost to nobody. When she reached the tree, she turned the full force of her glare on the visibly paled man. “You are damned lucky there are so many people here right now. I ought to break your neck, here, as a warning to anyone else stupid enough to think they can bother me while I am having a relaxing visit at the garden with a friend.”

Clint hung back a step, letting Natalia take the lead. He glanced around the park, nothing of note pinging his search. The man pinned to the tree appeared to be alone.

“I’m done here,” she said shortly, after retrieving her knife. A ring of people had formed a circle, giving a very large berth to the three in the middle, but there was no where for the man to run. The would-be assassin breathed a sigh of relief that he was not dead, and sat, waiting for the authorities to arrive. Natalia turned on her heel and left.

Clint followed behind, and she grew annoyed quickly. Though she couldn’t deny that he had been helpful in a situation that he could have used to his advantage, he still was an enemy.

“Thank you,” she said finally as they passed by the statutes of the park. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “You did the hard part, though.” He seemed to be considering something, and fell silent for a few minutes, even as he continued to follow her.

“I do not need your protection,” she said, stopping by several old trees. Their branches swayed, back and forth, content and sure in their movement. 

He nodded. “Yes, but - I was thinking. Why don’t you come with me? Join SHIELD. Use your skills for, uh, good?”

“SHIELD, hmm?” Natalia said, pausing in her walk and smiling gracefully. “Thank you for revealing your affiliation.”

Clint looked affronted for a moment before waving it off. “No, look - I’m not cut out for the mind games and the deception. I shoot arrows, and I do that well. And I know we could use someone like you.”

“You are not afraid I will kill you all in your sleep?” Natalia replied, watching his face.

Clint smiled, an easy gesture that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t think we’d give you reason to.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. -” Natalia said, allowing a laugh.

“The name’s Clint.” He stuck out his hand.

“Natasha,” she replied after a moment’s pause. She returned the handshake. “It is good to meet you, Clint.”


	5. Car Radio

[Car Radio - Twenty One Pilots](https://www.dropbox.com/s/xfxblr2itwsq4qt/5%20Car%20Radio.mp3?dl=0)

 

“I assign you to take her out of the picture and you bring her  _ here _ .” To say Fury was upset would not give the word “upset” justice. He was standing over his desk, veins in his neck throbbing, one fist pounding the table with every other word for emphasis and the other in the air as though he could just reach out and strangle the man in front of him.

“You assigned me to eliminate a threat,” Clint said. He was seated, thankfully, out of of reach. He was still twenty feet too close. “And I believe by bringing her to our side, we have done that.”

Fury let out a loud sigh. “Barton. You are my one of my best operatives, but sometimes you have the most cockamamie ideas I have ever heard.” He fixed his gaze on Clint. “And I have heard a lot of ideas.”

Clint nodded, letting the words wash over him. “I made a judgement call, sir. I’ve known men who I wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw them, and I’ve know good men who’ve made bad decisions.” He doubted that appealing to the humane side of the equation was the best idea right now. He doubted Fury would care how Natasha had been torn from family, brainwashed and indoctrinated to a life she didn’t deserve. That now she had a skillset that would never let her be “normal” again. She deserved, at least, a place to be safe and heal.

Clint especially would not add the part that if he could help her heal, it would prove  _ he _ had a purpose in life, too, beyond missions and SHIELD and the emptiness that he felt when he sat too still or thought too long. 

“When Maria is done with her interrogation, we will go from there, Barton. Until then, consider yourself confined to your quarters.” Fury had calmed down to some degree, the veins in his neck lying flat once more. Clint nodded, and got out of the room as fast as he could without it being considered a “scurry.” 

An hour later, he was pacing his room end to end. From bunk to desk to bunk to desk, taking deep breaths every now and again when he thought about it, but mostly just moving to avoid thinking. The TV was on, dutifully providing background noise, but it wasn’t loud enough. 

Past the bunk again. Past the desk, where a letter from his brother sat out, unanswered.

Clint,

Do you ever get a break from this place? Long time no see, little bro. I’d say I was

bummed you didn’t come to my wedding, but we eloped. You’d like her alright. I

got her pregnant so I did what I had to, but she’s nice enough. Says I need to drink

less. Do they give you leave where you’re at? Wouldn’t mind a visit from my little bro.

Barney

Past the TV. Maybe it was too loud. With more force than strictly necessary, Clint thumbed the power off button. 

The quiet meant his thoughts came rushing in like floodwaters, bouncing in from every direction, thoughts about  _ what has my brother gotten into this time _ and  _ how much like him am I anyhow  _ and  _ they had better not hurt her _ . Confined to quarters - the man could have at least given him access to the shooting gallery. Nothing like lining up a shot to silence the voices in your head.

Pacing wasn’t working, so Clint tried sitting still. 

_ -If I fuck this up, what’s the next step? This is as close as I’m ever going to get to home- _

_ -Fucking even Barney’s gonna have a wife and kid and they don’t deserve his bullshit and I’ve got no one- _

Nope, sitting still definitely wasn’t doing it either. It wasn’t enough to occupy his legs. His hands had to be busy. His mind needed the constant calculations running through to aim and make the shot, because otherwise he just thought too goddamn much.

He needed to blow off some steam. 

He couldn’t go to the shooting range so he did the next best thing, and took a hot shower. The water sprayed down, hot enough to redden the skin on his back, his arms, and his side as he turned, enjoying the way the burning heat helped his muscles relax even as the pain helped silence his intrusive thoughts.

Water ran through his hair, tracing down his back and running down his legs. Clint thumbed at a sore spot in his back, working the muscle as a new little thought popped up in the corner of his mind  _ would be nice to have a hand for this _ and his thoughts settled on  _ Natasha _ and Clint couldn’t hold back a low groan as his mind helpfully started to play out a fantasy, Natasha under the warm water, her red hair darkening as it saturated with water, smiling up at him like she couldn’t decide whether to kiss him or kill him.

Oh. Yeah, that was nice, the way she looked at him, even if it was just his imagination. He squashed the guilty  _ you just met her _ down because what the fuck else was he going to do right now, just keep thinking?

In his mind, water ran down Natasha’s skin, highlighting her curves and dripping down those fucking murderous thighs. He wanted to bury his head there, fuck it, he was allowed to have a fantasy as his fingers worked towards his hardening cock, the rough brush of his fingertips dragging on the sensitive skin and he made a noise deep in his throat, letting the water beat down on him, letting his mind run with a fantasy to crowd out everything else and, fuck, he wasn’t going to last long and he had wanted to make it last, had wanted to drag it out, to fill time, but in his mind, Natasha was putting a hand on his waist and saying something, anything, with that killer smile and Clint came, breathing heavily and putting a hand on the shower wall to stabilize himself. 

He took a deep breath, the water rinsing over him and his thoughts rushing right back in to let him know just how awful he was.

A few minutes later, he was toweling off in the bathroom and moving back to his room, the towel wrapped around his waist as he picked out a new outfit from his closet. There was a knock at the door, but before Clint could say anything, the door lock slipped open and Natasha pressed her way into the room.

“Whoa, hey,” Clint said, holding up his hands. The towel started to slip and he grabbed at it with one hand. “What -”

“Clint,” Natasha said, her voice so quiet Clint had to lean forward to hear. “They’ve offered me a position.”

“That’s great, Natasha.” Clint held the towel firmly in place. “I really am happy for you. But let me put on some pants first.” He grabbed the shirt from his closet and scooped up the pants he had laid on the bed and would have made it back to the bathroom to change had Natasha not taken three graceful steps towards him, until there were only inches between them.

She smelled like roses and sunlight, like a memory of a beautiful day, and Clint wanted nothing more than to stay like that, able to smell her and see her, but even as Natasha started to slip her shirt over her shoulders, something seemed off.

“Natasha,” Clint began, reaching out to stay her arm. “What are you doing?”

Without a moment of hesitation, Natasha smiled, something sultry and dangerous and it went straight to Clint’s cock. “I wanted to thank you,” she said. The words were honey, soft and promising, and Clint ached to lean towards her, take her in his arms, run his hands down her back and -

He fumbled for the words that would let her know that it wasn’t anything she was doing - fuck, he really liked what she was doing - but he couldn’t ignore the alarm in his head, the one shouting,  _ something’s not right. _ And the voice in the back of his head that cried from years ago,  _ you took advantage of me! _

“Typically people thank me with a card,” he managed. Natasha pushed him square in the chest, gentle enough to be playful and strong enough to send him backwards onto his bed. She slunk forward, moving like a cat closing in on her prey.

“You do not want this?” she asked, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Something is telling me otherwise,” she added, and he followed her gaze to his crotch, the towel splayed to the side, covering nothing. 

A pink glow grazed his face  and an “aww, towel, no,” slipped out as Clint grabbed the towel back in place, barely able to get the words out. “I can’t, Natasha. I don’t want you thinking you owe me like that. I would have done it for anyone, even if they weren’t the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen and I should just shut up now.”

She smiled a little. “You should.” She considered for a moment and then slipped her shirt back on, smoothing the fabric and looking at Clint with equal measures of interest and confusion. “I have no money for a card.”

“No, no, no,” Clint said, the words tumbling out as fast as they could. “If I made you think I was expecting you to - I mean, not that I don’t want to - I mean, I really need to stop talking.” He groaned. His head hurt. He wished he could just go to sleep.

But that got a laugh and Clint found himself wishing he could save that moment. The laugh didn’t quite light up her eyes, but it sounded so genuine. She leaned forward, putting her hands on the bed, one on either side of his chest, pressing her lips against his, a whisper-light touch that had Clint closing his eyes and returning the kiss with equal softness. 

“Clinton Barton,” Natasha said as she pulled back, her eyes gleaming with something underneath that he couldn’t quite identify. “You are very interesting. Ok, then. I don’t owe you anything. See you tomorrow,  _ partner _ .”

She turned on her heel and left in such a smooth motion that Clint considered that perhaps he had been hallucinating. He touched his lips, feeling as though he had just handled a live wire, and then glared at the bed. His traitorous towel lay on the bed next to him, saying nothing, and the silence fell in around him.


	6. Chapter 6

[Run - Snow Patrol](https://www.dropbox.com/s/uhv5upq6e07f257/6%20Run.mp3?dl=0)

 

“I’ve got him on your nine, moving rapidly,” Natasha’s voice whispered through the commlink and Clint nodded as though she could see him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she heard the movement anyhow.    


He waited for two seconds that felt like two hours, imagining the target moving as though he could see in the dark and then aimed and shot, his arrow finding its mark like every time before. The solitary guard never knew what hit him.

“All clear,” he said. Natasha slipped down the line above him and together they went out of the small basement room.

“Just once, you should miss so I can have some fun,” Natasha said conversationally as they walked through to their target, an underground lab, now nearly abandoned. 

“I can’t miss,” Clint replied seriously, and she nodded, humming in agreement. Natasha understood. 

The hallway was long, lit every so often by dim wall lights washing over dingy tile and old plaster. There wasn’t much to see though; each room was empty save for a few pieces of trash, near-destroyed paper and some heavy equipment that looked as though it hadn’t been used since WWII. Which, Clint mused, it probably hadn’t.

Each room had the dusty overlay of unuse, and they were careful to document thoroughly, grabbing anything that wasn’t bolted down or too heavy to move.

They turned to leave the final room and there was a loud creak as a side door opened, the brush of metal on metal raising the hairs on the back of Clint’s neck. Natasha turned towards him and, wordlessly, moved on quiet feet faster than Clint thought possible towards the sound. He took his position across the room and drew an arrow.

The next noise they heard was a click and the sound of something being rolled along the ground. Natasha turned around and moved even faster than she had gotten across the room, tackling Clint so that they both fell out of the door to the hallway, Natasha kicking at the door so it shut behind them just as the grenade exploded, sending shrapnel around the room they had just been in, shaking the walls and the doors and the ceiling

_ Back the way we came _ Natasha signed and Clint nodded. They moved quickly and quietly and had each other’s backs. They escaped to the main floor of the old warehouse, where the rest of the team was waiting for them outside.

“Someone is still down there,” Clint said, as Natasha transferred documents to the vehicle.

“We’ll take it from here.” Phil Coulson nodded. “Sweep the area,” he ordered to the others, who moved quickly. He turned back to Clint and Natasha, frowning. “Our intelligence must have been off. We should have gone with you.”

Natasha shrugged. “You were making sure no one followed us in, making sure we didn’t trip a silent alarm, keeping the perimeter secure.”

Clint stared at Natasha as she spoke as if she hadn’t just been seconds away from possible death. He sprawled into the grass with a sigh. He needed a break. Thankfully, it wasn’t too long before the second sweep thoroughly cleared the area and the team headed back to base.

~~

“You were amazing out there today, Natasha,” Clint said as they ate dinner together that evening. The rest of the team was eating in the main room of the nondescript base, but the two of them ate in Clint’s room, Natasha sitting on the bed and Clint in the hard back chair. Like most of the other safehouses they had been in, everything was boring and beige and nothing but practical.

“You say that every time,” Natasha replied, taking a bit of noodles. Gracefully, like everything else she did. Clint watched, as he was convinced she never made a move that wasn’t poised and perfect, that everything she did was exactly what she planned each time.

“Doesn’t make it less true.” Clint shrugged as if to deflect the truthfulness of his compliment. The two of them had gotten quite the rhythm in their missions, each bringing a solid skillset to the table and filling in each other’s weaknesses with their strengths. 

Usually Clint would let the conversation lapse into mission talk, as they would consider what they had done well, what they needed to practice, what they would try next time. But tonight, he couldn’t help himself, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. “D’you think you’re happy? Doing this, I mean?”

Natasha didn’t look up from her noodles, her expression the exact same as it had been when they talked about the mission. “I’m very pleased to see there’s a place for my talents in the world.”

“I guess I mean,” Clint said, pausing and trying to consider his words. “What would you do if you could do anything in the world?” He managed to cut himself off before he added  _ what if you and I ran away together and just lived life, together. Without all this almost dying bullshit. _

Now it was Natasha’s turn to shrug. She even looked up at Clint as she spoke. “I don’t know. It’s not like I can go ask my four year old self what I wanted to be when I grow up. That little girl is dead and gone. What I do is all I know.”

Clint rubbed his head awkwardly, mussing his hair as his dinner sat forgotten on the little desk next to him. “Sorry.” 

Natasha smiled, just a little, but enough to make Clint’s heart beat faster - even her smallest smiles lit up the room, and he was always trying to make her smile. “I think it is similar for you?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Clint repeated Natasha’s words from earlier. “My four year old self just wanted a real family, a mom and a dad who loved me and my brother.” He had to stop for a moment as the emotions behind the statement crashed into him like an unexpected tidal wave. “For as long as I can remember, I just wanted to have a family, eat dinner at a real table. Grow up, have a couple kids of my own someday. Just be normal like that.”

Out of everything Clint had said during their last few months as a team, he didn’t expect that to be what had Natasha’s eyes flashing. “Normal is useless,” she all but spit out. “I would have died if I were a normal little girl who wanted normal things, I wouldn’t have lasted two days, let alone nearly two decades -”

Her words hit him like a stone and Clint nodded. “Right. I didn’t mean to say-”

“No, I understand.” She cut him off, reining in her anger and putting on what Clint had come to call her mask - neutral, calm, always observing and never betraying how she actually felt. “It is nice to want something like that. But I am trying to set slightly more attainable goals for myself.”

Clint nodded again, grateful he had not spoken his earlier wishes of wanting to run away with her. So maybe Natasha didn’t think of running away, with or without him. He could respect her wishes. She tossed her hair back before having another bite of noodles and Clint all but sighed. He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling in love with her, and there was no sign that she felt the same.

The conversation fell back to the mission, to safe topics, and once Natasha left for the evening, Clint rediscovered his now cold dinner. He ate, wondering too late if maybe Natasha had been upset that he had spoken about eating dinner at a real table, as though he didn’t count her as part of his family, as though them sharing meals together in their rooms and on the road didn’t count. 

_ Stupid, stupid Clint, _ he thought to himself, shaking his head.  _ Gotta quit fucking up like that. _

~~

The next few weeks, they didn’t talk about anything except for their missions. Then, as was par for the course for Clint, they got a mission that required them to pose as a married couple honeymooning abroad. 

Natasha was all over him in public, clinging to his arm and shoulder as she played the part of a newlywed and tourist so well that Clint felt bad for being the weaker link of the op. He resolved to up his game and buy a fanny pack later.

At dinner with their target, she spoke at length of their time together, their first kiss, and their first date. Clint just smiled and nodded, letting Natasha fill in the details of their pretend life together. He figured if he stared at her like he was over the moon about her, it didn’t matter if no one knew he wasn’t pretending.

At night, she slept on the couch in their hotel room, refusing to let Clint let her have the bed. He slept fitfully, and every time he woke up, she was awake. Quiet and lying down, but awake, her eyes watching the entrance and occasionally flitting towards the windows. 

Around three in the morning, Clint woke up again and realized he needed to offer to take a turn on watch. “Hey,” he called out, keeping his voice low and quiet, “Get some sleep. I’ll stay up.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. Even in the dark, he could see that eyebrow moving. “What a gentleman.”

But she closed her eyes then, and rested, even if he never did hear her breath even out into a truly deep sleep.

The next morning, Clint was pouring himself a third cup of coffee and yawning while Natasha breezed into the room after her shower. She smiled. 

“I appreciated the offer last night.” She grabbed a cup from the counter and filled it with water from the tap. “But just so you know, I only need a few hours of sleep at night. Don’t worry about me. Staying aware is just part of who I am, even if we may not need it.”

“I’m only human,” Clint muttered into the steaming hot cup of bitterness. “I need my eight hours.”

Natasha smiled, again, and Clint couldn’t help it. He smiled back at her, meeting her eyes and feeling dangerously close to blurting out how he felt about her. He took a swift sip of too-hot coffee and nearly spit it right back out, but at least he didn’t say anything incriminating, and - bonus - she smiled at him. 

He liked this. Whatever they had right now. Their partnership. It wasn’t worth ruining. Especially when Clint thought back to the handful of times that Natasha had spoken about her body being used for the ops she did before, though she had never gone into any detail. Whenever it had came up, she had spoken generally, shrugging it off as if it were a simple workplace hazard.

Clint didn’t feel the same way. He wanted to go to every last person who had failed to see Natasha as more than just a pretty face, who failed to understand she was not just a weapon, and he wanted to put an arrow through their knees. It might have been the butt of a joke in a video game he played once, but he’d seen in person the damage and the lasting repercussions a well-placed arrow through the joint could do. It wouldn’t be enough, no, but he didn’t want to stoop to their level.

In any case, it meant that he had to live with how he felt, and how she didn’t feel the same. She deserved, more than anything, to be with someone she wanted to be with.

And if that meant they’d never run off to be happily ever after, Clint mused as they revealed their deception later that afternoon after getting the incriminating evidence they needed from their target, then so be it.

He looked at Natasha, who was standing over their target, her gun drawn and her hands dead steady in their aim as they waited for the police to finish what they started, and he couldn’t hold back a smile.

Maybe he wasn’t strong enough to always feel content with where they were, but for now, this was all he needed.


	7. Chapter 7

[Control - Halsey](https://www.dropbox.com/s/keagf0dafdc5vlq/7%20Control.mp3?dl=0)

 

Natasha fit the ear protection on her head, setting up in the shooting range. No one else was awake at the early morning hours - or at least, no one awake was  _ here _ and that was good enough to make it her time.

She shoot through a box of bullets, each going through the target exactly where she wanted, a quick succession of gunfire broken only by her reloading time, which was shorter and shorter as she got into a rhythm of destruction. 

By the end, she was thankful for a pause to catch her breath, but otherwise remained calm and ready to go again, though the same could not be said for the poor targets down range. 

It had taken her months to stop looking over her shoulder, waiting for her instructor’s voice to grant her leave from practice. Now she set her own time and practice and felt - almost free.

She took her shower after the range, scrubbing her hair under the spray and allowing exactly one minute to enjoy the warmth of water that soothed sore muscles instead of coming down cold and miserable.

When she turned off the water, she closed her eyes and inhaled, filling her lungs with air and steam and breathing out while counting to four. It wasn’t inner peace, but it was a little closer than she had been.

Clint was waiting for her outside her room and the two headed to breakfast together, a routine they had perfected over the last few years.

“They’re monitoring the situation in Budapest,” he said as they walked, him in his favorite purple shirt and black pants, her in all black, at least three knives on her person.

“I’m sure when they are ready for us, we will know.” Natasha paused. “Let’s just hope they recognize when we are needed sooner rather than later.”

“Been working with you for literally years now and I still can’t decide whether you’re feeling resentful or just itching to get your thighs around some guy’s neck,” Clint said, half serious.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Because that’s the legacy I’m dying to leave behind. ‘The one who killed men, but sexily.’ ”

Clint raised his hands. “Sorry, that really wasn’t appropriate of me. Need me to give you some space?” he offered.

She shrugged. They got to the mess hall and got their breakfast trays, sitting down at an empty table and watching as the others trickled in. They ate in silence, Natasha surreptitiously watching the way Clint’s face twitched as he ate, right at the cheeks. Like he was about to frown and decided it against it. She wondered if he even knew he did that when he was feeling frustrated. But Natasha had watched and observed for the better part of a year. Sometimes, she felt like she knew Clint better than she knew herself.

Sometimes, when she was at the shooting range, she felt like she was a different self, a monster waiting to be let out to destroy everything, good or bad. Sometimes, she wished she could tell someone - mostly just Clint - how she really felt, without scaring him away.

She ate her breakfast, fork scraping against the plate every now and again, and she watched Clint. Once she had thought there was something in the way that he looked at her, that maybe he really cared for her. Now it was hard to tell - did he just appreciate their excellent teamwork? He never  _ said _ anything about how he might feel to her, besides the first day when she had tried to thank him in the only way she knew how.

The room was full of chatter, some conversations loud and some quiet, all blending together in a general sense of ease and comfort. That’s when Nick Fury came through the door like a bull through a glass wall. Everyone turned, silence falling over the mess hall.

“Clint. Natasha. My office, now.” His words shot through the silence like a gun, even though his voice wasn’t raised in the least.

Natasha looked down at her almost finished eggs, grabbed the toast off her plate, and munched on it as they headed out of the room. Looks like it was go-time.

Clint followed behind, same pensive look on his face as before. They followed Fury down the hallways of SHIELD headquarters to his office, a route Natasha could walk in her sleep. Did it bother her that SHIELD always seemed to wait until things were going bad to worse before bringing her and Clint in? Was it really their job to be clean-up and wouldn’t they be better off going in before it got to this point?

What if working for SHIELD was a mistake, too? A different kind of mistake.

Natasha shoved those thoughts down, deep, as far as they would go, bringing her attention back to Clint. Always watching him. Did he know how much she watched him? He was easy on the eyes, sure, with that always just-mussed hair and those arms, muscled from the constant demand of his bow and arrows. The way he strode, always walking like he knew what he was going to do next, even if he was making it up on the go. 

But it was the way he wore his emotions on his face in ways she knew no one else noticed that made her wonder if just maybe he was letting his guard down around her. Then again, it was also ingrained in her very being to interpret body language quickly and efficiently, to try to predict what someone might do before they acted. 

They were in Fury’s office before she could go farther in that train of thought and he was already giving them the run-down on the situation. 

“The potential for civilian collateral is frankly unacceptable,” Fury finished. “And for what? The team didn’t get the intel we needed and the vermin are swarming the location as we speak.”

Clint looked up at Fury. “I’m not quite sure where we fit in here.”

Fury scowled, the expression working its way across his entire body, landing in the tenseness of his shoulders. “I had this thought,” Fury said slowly. “This thought that maybe I’d indulge in a little playing favorites and let my two best agents take a rest while I sent what I thought was a competent team to do what I thought would be easily in line with their abilities.” He took a deep breath and swept his arm to the side, as though pushing away the frustration. “And look where that got me.” He barked a harsh laugh and Natasha found herself nodding along, actually a little frightened by the level of exasperation in Fury’s words. “No data and at least 50 civilians put at risk.”

“So let’s not dwell on what could have been,” Clint said, picking up Fury’s train of thought. “We’ll do a little R and R. Rescue and retaliation, that is. How long until we can get there?”

“Maria?” Fury called. Maria came through the door of her office to his, standing at attention. “Strike Team Delta is ready.”

“Thanks, sir. We’ve got this,” Maria said to him, and nodded to Clint and Natasha. She turned and started down the hallway, bringing them up to the helicopter launch pad. A stealth jet was at the ready and Natasha and Clint began to talk strategy as the pilot hauled ass across the Atlantic.

~~

Things really weren’t going well. Natasha and Clint stood back to back, working in tandem to try to fight their way out of the large warehouse room they had ended up in. Natasha had both pistols drawn, shooting to maim rather than kill, but, as she looked around the room, watching as more men rushed in through both the north and west entrances, she decided she might have to change her approach.

“So not to worry you,” Clint said from behind her, “But I’m gonna run out of arrows, uh - much sooner than would be good for us here.”

“Noted,” Natasha replied, adjusting her aim and fire three more shots. Leg, shoulder, shoulder.  _ And stay down. _ She took a deep breath, trying to focus on the situation. Trying to find something they could take to turn the advantage. Thankful they had at least managed to get the civilians out of the area.

“Second to last arrow,” Clint said, so quietly that Natasha had to strain to hear. “Really thought I’d be able to get at least a few of these back.”

Natasha spun around to cover him, her fist leading the way as she delivered a black widow charge to the two closest guys rushing at him. Everyone was wearing all-black uniforms of some sort, and they were trying to kill them, so they were solidly placed in the “bad guy” category. Two more men felt down in front of her, but she was far from being able to move forward. 

Clint spun around, using his bow to block a blow from someone who had snuck up on them and ducking under a third. Suddenly, all of their attackers seemed to pause and step back, a collective group effort so unexpected that it sent a shiver down Natasha’s spine.

Through the door came an older man, dressed in a black uniform like all the others. His neatly trimmed white beard moved as he spoke, and as he spoke, he held up a grenade, the pin still intact.

“I won’t hesitate to use this and consider it a win, taking down both the Black Widow and her Hawk,” he said. “But perhaps you will come willingly instead.”

Natasha shared a look with Clint. They both knew the odds of getting out of that room alive if they continued to fight. Natasha glared as she dropped her spent pistols to the ground and put up her hands. Clint laid down his bow and did the same. 

Two of the black-uniformed grunts reapproached them and cuffed their hands. Natasha looked at Clint again, the moment crystallizing as she understood it could be the last time that she saw him. She memorized the lines of his face, the ones from the smiles and from the frowns of their time spent working together. She watched him watching her and wondered if he was doing the same.

And then they were led out of the room, led down the hallway and separated, Natasha being shoved to the left and Clint being pushed to the right. Clint tensed and for a moment, Natasha’s stomach dropped as she envisioned him retaliating, outnumbered or not. He didn’t exactly relax, but his posture eased up enough that Natasha let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding and then Clint was gone, invisible behind a group of people in black moving behind him. 

~~

Several hours later, Natasha sat cross legged in her holding cell, a four foot by four foot closet with a single light overhead. They needed to step up their game if they wanted to spook her. Right now her concern was how Clint was being treated. He was smart and capable and strong, but had very little practical experience in being a captive. She had her field of flowers, green grass and colorful blooms. She wasn’t sure what he had, and more importantly, she didn’t want him to have to have something. He deserved more than that. 

She ran through her mental notes of the mission. SHIELD was calling this group of terrorists Leviathan, but they didn’t quite match up with the information she had had on Leviathan. After all, her favorite childhood memories were courtesy of Leviathan - the group had been ( _ probably still is _ , Natasha corrected herself) the creators of the Red Room training program. Though what had brought them to Budapest, to this old warehouse at the edge of the city was beyond her.  

The sound of footsteps and voices outside the door of the room brought her attention back to the present moment. The door swung open and white beard guy was there, looking down at her like she was a cockroach hiding under a plate.

“The great Black Widow comes back to play with us.” He spoke in Russian and Natasha glanced behind him. There were at least three other visible men. Before shoving her in the room earlier, they had taken all of her weapons and left her wearing a tanktop and, how nice of them, her pants. No shoes, no socks. 

“Sure.” Natasha continued to sit in her cross legged pose, looking up at him as though he were garbage left out in the sun. She smiled as though the sun was warming her face. “I love to play with my unfortunate prey.”

Something like a bark of laughter passed through his mouth. “Right. You will do well to notice the reality of your situation.” He nodded to the two men on his side, and they moved forward through the door and roughly lifted Natasha to her feet. She was almost caught off-balance, but remained standing. “Come on, we’re going for a walk.”

They would have gotten more mileage out of blindfolding her, but she wasn’t going to help them out. She kept her eyes on the ground, taking note of every step, every door they passed and every hallway they turned down. 

“We’re so honored to have you as our guest,” White Beard said, sarcasm dripping off each word. “We didn’t know how much your boyfriend knew about you,” he continued as they moved further into the building, two men in front of her and two behind, White Beard in the lead. “So we figured we would take the time to enlighten him. Your friend Ivan helped us obtain the film.”

He paused, leading Natasha in front of a large pane of glass that overlooked the room inside. Natasha could see where Clint was cuffed to a chair, a projector behind him and an image on the wall in front of him.

Natasha stood in front of him, eight years old. Russian words flashed across the bottom: “Test Subject, Natalia Alianovna Romanova.”

Her heart sunk. She knew exactly what Clint was about to watch, and while she knew that he had some idea about her past, she knew it wasn’t this. It wasn’t her eight year old self calmly and efficiently murdering three people for the camera.  _ Never hesitate.  _ The words echoed in her mind, a memory of Madame B. she wanted to push right back down, push it down into a speck of black dust and blow it away for good.  _ No matter who is in front of you, never hesitate.  _ Natasha could almost hear the gunshots echoing in the room below.  _ Friend or foe, if they’re dead, they can never betray you. _

She knew she was breathing louder. Her heart bounded, threatening to betray her response to the video below. Clint was far enough away that she couldn’t tell if they had hurt him. He looked uncomfortable, but whether it was from the content of the film or from the angle they had him cuffed to the chair was impossible to tell.

Natasha tore her eyes away from the room in front of her. White Beard had the audacity to be grinning. “He’s not gonna stick around long, is he?” he asked, pleased with his plan. “Not when he knows what we’ve done to you. That you’re just a monster wearing a pretty face.”

Five men in front of her and four down in the room with Clint. Natasha let the fire burning inside her heart spread to her face. “If I am that monster you say I am,” Natasha replied, her voice even and quiet, “then I’d expect you to show a little more fear.”

She moved quickly, before he could respond. It wasn’t easy with the handcuffs, but the small space of the room worked to her advantage. She flung herself at the farthest guard, catching him off balance and knocking him to the floor as she dug her elbow into his neck. It would have been nice to grab his gun and go from there, but with her hands bound, she didn’t have that luxury. Instead, Natasha focused on moving as the other three and White Beard started to retaliate, closing in on her, drawing their guns. 

Natasha dove between the two closest to her, letting the momentum carry her behind them and forcing White Beard to spin around to aim his pistol. She had no doubt he would shoot his own men if he thought it was a close enough shot, so she didn’t stop, just dropped to the ground, sweeping her legs and kicking out their feet. Both men fell to the floor and Natasha took one millisecond to wish she could knock them out with a widow’s charge instead of crushing down on their necks with her elbow, one, two. 

His gun ready and aimed, White Beard shot twice, the first one missing her and going through the hand of the man on her right. The second grazed her thigh and set it momentarily on fire. Natasha pushed the pain away as she lunged, letting the weight of the cuffs counterbalance the move. She jumped, slamming into him and disarming him.

He wasn’t going to go down without a fight. White Beard shifted his weight suddenly, throwing Natasha to the floor. She rolled twice, closer to his gun than he was, but he faked to the right and then went left, grabbing for one of the fallen guard's guns. Natasha somersaulted forward, knocking him over just before he could grab it. She bashed her cuffed hands on the back of his head with every ounce of strength she could muster, and his eyes crossed before rolling up, and he crumpled over. 

Natasha spat at him, watching the room as she brought her hands to her hair, retrieving a lone lock pick tucked behind her ear. Hands free, it was only a matter of picking up one of the guns and bursting through the door to the room below. Four shots, four bodies hit the floor.

“Natasha,” Clint called out, looking at her with a mixture of relief and probably fear, but Natasha shoved that thought straight out of her mind as she focused on scanning the room for others. She stalked to Clint, picking the lock on his cuffs and offering him a hand to stand.

Clint looked over the room, at the men who would never get up again and at the image on the screen in front of him, but he never hesitated as he reached to grab her hand and let her pull him up out of the chair. He wobbled onto his feet.

“Man,” he said, trying a tentative step. “I was kind of hoping I’d get to be the one busting down the door with a gun.”

Natasha grinned.

Wobble and all, they moved at a quick clip, Natasha retracing her steps back down the hallways and relying on her best instincts to get them to the outside of the building. 

“That would have been interesting. Have you ever shot a gun?” Natasha asked as they moved, just kept moving. She forced her sore muscles to function as though she had just woken up from a peaceful sleep, but it wasn’t going to last much longer.

“I mean. No, but I would have tried my best,” Clint replied, looking just as tired as Natasha felt. His forehead and cheek were bruised and there was a cut on his arm, dried blood trailing along the line of muscle. 

They made it outside the building to see the sun had set hours ago. Natasha shivered, wishing she had socks. She could have at least taken socks from one of the bodies. Her thigh was throbbing where the bullet had ran along her skin. Thankfully, before too long, a SHIELD tactical team was coming to pick them up and Natasha all but fell into her seat in the van. 

Clint grinned at her, muttering sleepily, “You were amazing out there today, Tash,” as he closed his eyes.

Natasha smiled. “You say that every time,” she said, but he was already snoring. She grabbed his hand in the dark, and held it, telling herself she was only providing support for her teammate, but as she watched his chest rise and fall, letting her gaze rest on his face, she knew that it was something more.


	8. Chapter 8

[Kiss With a Fist - Florence + The Machine](https://www.dropbox.com/s/cttyw6sg5oam8i2/8%20Kiss%20With%20a%20Fist.mp3?dl=0)

 

The hot water felt good on her aching muscles. Natasha sighed, her eyes closed and let her shoulders relax, her hair wet against her back, little streams of water working down her body. It had been a long time since she had been this sore. 

That bullet wound on her thigh, to her relief, was only cosmetic damage, and would probably end up another pale scar. She’d add it to her collection, every scar a story of a fight that she won. The water traced over her skin - she’d won a lot of fights.

She ended up spending five extra minutes in the shower, just breathing in and relaxing, and trying to brace herself for a conversation with Clint that she knew was coming. Thankful that he had gotten over a year to get to know who she was now.

Natasha’s hair was wet when she stepped out of her room, making up for the extra time she took in the shower. But Clint wasn’t waiting for her. And when she went down to breakfast, she scanned the room and saw that he wasn’t there either. It stung, a little, in a piece of her heart she didn’t know was capable of feeling. She would have celebrated the little victory of feeling human, except it just hurt so much, like a fine knife cut.

Well if he didn’t want to see her, she wouldn’t force herself on him. She could understand him needing some time to process the whole Budapest situation. She ate her breakfast, stabbing her forkful of eggs a little more roughly than necessary, and went back to her room. 

It was quiet, she realized before long. Of course it was quiet without another person there - she wasn’t in a habit of talking out loud to herself. But it was quiet in other ways too. The way Clint would tip back his chair, the back of the chair creaking in protest. The way he would huff and hum over mission documents as they read together, the way he would run his hand through his hair, as if his hands couldn’t stay still for longer than five minutes.

She worked through her frustrations sparring with some fellow SHIELD agents who had the misfortune to go up against her today. When she finished her dinner that evening and Clint still hadn’t appeared, she considered that perhaps he wasn’t on base at all. Whether it was unrelated or not had yet to be determined. 

Natasha worked through her conflicting emotions with an intense training session, attacking the free weights as though they had personally seen Clint off. She appreciated the soreness as she fell into her bed, her muscles protesting the movements. It was a good kind of pain, like an aching lullaby to ease her to sleep.

The next morning, Natasha all but limped to the bathroom. Maybe she had overdone it, considering the injuries she was still recovering from. She stretched, arms reaching towards the ceiling and couldn’t help but groan.

_ Guess this is what being old is like. _

The thought popped up, something that Clint would have said, and she smiled before she remembered how annoyed she had been yesterday.

She decided on patience, to let Clint tell his story before going off on him. It was a good idea, in theory, but as the days turned into a week, she found herself snapping at anyone who so much as offered a friendly “hello” in the hallways.

So when Clint showed up Friday afternoon to sparring practice as though he hadn’t been gone for seven days, Natasha kind of forgot her whole patience angle. She motioned for Clint to come on to the mats.

Clint waved. He was wearing his sparring clothes - of course the tank top was dark purple against black and of course it highlighted his shoulders - and Natasha all but growled at him.

“Dang, Tash,” Clint said as he moved into position. “What’d I do to deserve that?”

Natasha replied with a lunge, knocking Clint off-balance, but he recovered with a speed that made Natasha proud as he shifted his weight and let her momentum carry her too far past. 

She spun around before he could retaliate and lunged again, aiming for his midsection when she knew he would expect her to try higher.

“Oof,” Clint grunted and fell back, twisting to break free of her grip and to roll away as he hit the mats.

Natasha was on him in a moment, grabbing one of his arms and pinning it back while straddling his waist. She held for three more seconds, letting him know she considered that a win and then let go, jumping back up and getting back into position across from him.

“So that’s how it is, huh,” Clint said, rolling to his side, standing up and squaring his shoulders. “Not even a hello, it’s nice to see you, I missed you-”

She moved again, dropping to the ground and sweeping her legs around. Clint only just managed to jump up and out of the way. He decided to roll with it, and tackled her as she was standing back up, knocking her down and grabbing her wrists. She struggled, yanking her hands to the side and diagonally, trying to break his grip. He just held tighter, until his fingers were digging into his skin and he would have let go at that point had she not stopped struggling. 

Natasha lay on her back, looking up at Clint, at his crinkled brow and pursed lips and when he licked said lips, she became very aware of how close he was as he loomed over her, his chest inches from hers and his legs pressed up against her thighs. She let out her breath. Clint could have gotten up now, he had won the bout, but he lingered, he was definitely lingering, and Natasha knew that the others in the room were probably watching because they had been going all out and she knew they knew he was lingering and so she inclined her head and pressed her lips against his.

Clint paused at the touch for all of two seconds and then kissed back, his lips rough, and Natasha thought she heard someone clapping in the background, but Clint stood up and offered a hand and she grabbed it, pulling up and then pulling him out of the room to someone’s wolf whistle. She let her middle finger address the room behind her before pulling the door shut.

Her plan  _ had  _ been to move to one of their rooms - Clint’s was closest - but Clint grabbed her wrists, and spun her, pinning her against the wall as he kissed her again and Natasha’s breath caught in her throat. He so rarely used his full strength against her, always holding back when they sparred, and the sudden display had her going a little weak in the knees. 

“Oh, fuck,” she uttered eloquently, which only encouraged Clint. He nuzzled her cheek for a moment before trailing kisses down her jaw to her neck, nipping at the soft skin. Natasha shivered, pulling her hands away from Clint when he relaxed his grip and giving him a smack on the rear. “Your room or mine?” 

It was the illusion of choice, because she was already pulling him towards his room and Clint was following, and she showed incredible restraint in not ripping off his tank top as he fumbled with the lock, opening the door and pulling her inside so roughly that she nearly tumbled across the room and face-first into the bed.

She locked her hand on his wrist, pulling him with her, and he fell on top of her as they landed on the bed, his weight pushing her into the mattress. They kissed again, and again, not bothering to move to the head of the bed, trying to press as much skin together as possible. Natasha nearly ripped off Clint’s tank top as she pulled it up and over her head. Clint grinned, pushing up her shirt and fussing at the sports bra underneath, shoving that up too, letting Natasha’s breasts fall free below the fabric. He ducked his head to tease her nipples, using his tongue, and, when that earned him a full-body shiver, using a bit of teeth.

Natasha shuddered under Clint, letting her hands wander down his back, tracing circles over the muscles and marveling at the way he felt as he moved, firm and gentle all at the same time. She snaked her legs between their bodies and pushed him back, sending him sprawling towards the top of the mattress. The bed creaked in protest and Natasha grinned as Clint scowled. She swung her legs around, crawling up, her hands on either side of Clint shoulders.

“What’d I do to deserve that?!” he said as she brushed up against him, her body against his, and he groaned.

“You’re the one who left for a week without saying anything.” Natasha grabbed his wrists, pinning him to the mattress. She wasn’t the only one who appreciated the show of strength. Natasha felt Clint’s cock harden beneath her legs. She kissed him, hard and bruising, and Clint returned the kiss just as forcefully.

“I couldn’t say anything, Tash,” he said between their rough kisses. “To protect my brother and his family.”

“You don’t  _ trust _ me?” Natasha said, her voice like ice. Her grip on his wrists tightened, and though he knew he could twist free, he couldn’t help the groan that escaped as his erection ached. She slotted her knee between his thighs and pushed, spreading his legs apart and teasing him through his shorts with the length of her leg.

“They approved my request and sent me out before I could talk to you,” Clint said, pushing back against her. 

“You could have been anywhere,” Natasha said, letting go of his wrists and sliding back on the bed to ease down Clint’s shorts to free his erection. His cock stood at attention and she teased on a condom before pressing close against him, letting her body brush against his, loving the way it set her skin on fire to touch against him. She didn’t say that she had been worried. Instead, she lay her body along his, her breasts against his chest, her stomach against his, his cock providing a beautiful pressure against the rolling motion of her hips. She teased him a while longer, enjoying how his skin flushed pink down his face and neck and chest, and then she moved, sitting back on Clint’s lap, spreading her legs and guiding him inside her in a smooth, practiced motion, and she started to fuck him, setting a pace that had Clint grabbing at her hips, leaving fingerprints, and shouting her name.

She leaned forward, bending at the hips to attack his face, and they kissed, pouring out emotions they had never confessed to each other before in silent kisses, Natasha nipping at Clint’s lips and tongue and Clint responding with a slow roll of his tongue over her lips. Clint watched Natasha, watched the way her skin shone in the light, watched the way her hair spilled over her shoulders like a red sunrise, the kind sunrise that worried sailors. He watched the way her breasts bounced in time to the way she moved, her hips mesmerizing in their motion, the way she leaned forward to get that perfect bit of pressure against her own clit. She arched, a strangled cry on her lips, and he was gone before he had a chance, coming in pulses into the condom as he closed his eyes.

Natasha lay on him for a long minute, her head against his shoulder, her breath on his cheek. “You could have been anywhere,” Natasha repeated as she slid off him, rolling over to lie on the mattress.  _ You could have been on a mission, being shot at, and I wouldn’t have been able to do a thing. _ She knew he was capable, but there was something tugging at her. Was it anxiety? She put a hand on his side, running it down to his waist and back up, resting it on his chest and feeling his breathing. No, it was fear. Fear of never feeling his heart beat again, fear of being alone again.

“I wasn’t anywhere.” Clint looked up at the ceiling. “I was at my brother’s. It was not great.”

Natasha, silent, shrugged and sat up. Her eyes wandered along Clint’s naked form and she touched his thigh with her fingertips, pressing a pattern along the muscles. She didn’t know how to explain what she was feeling, so she listened to him.

“He’s drinking more, I guess. His wife said he’s between jobs. The kids were so damn quiet, Tash. Playing and any time I so much as moved, they would just stop and stare, those wide open eyes.” Clint rolled onto his side, sitting up so that he was by Natasha’s side. “She said he hasn’t hurt any of them, but that he’s threatened.”

“I didn’t know you were so close with his wife,” Natasha offered. It wasn’t jealousy; it was only an observation.

“Or she’s that scared,” Clint said. He sighed as he stood. “So that’s where I was, Tash. Next time, we can go together if you’d like.”

Natasha just laughed, all of the sudden, and Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Remember back when I first started with SHIELD and you were trying so hard to cover up with a towel?” Natasha grinned, gesturing towards Clint’s naked form as he rolled off the condom and tied the end. Her smile became gleeful, her eyes crinkling with mirth. “I thought I’d never see that little guy again!”   
  
“Ahem!” Clint raised both eyebrows now and glowered. “ _ Little _ guy? And besides, I told you - I wasn’t about to take advantage of your situation back then.” He wasn’t going to admit how freaking happy he was to see her smiling, that he would have started dancing right there if he thought it would make her laugh.

“You’re a good guy, Clint,” Natasha said, climbing off the bed to find her clothes and start getting dressed. 

“Yeah, well.” He walked across the room to grab his shorts, and if he had a little spring in his step, who was going to blame him? “I’ve been called worse.”


	9. Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

[Somewhere a Clock is Ticking - Snow Patrol](https://www.dropbox.com/s/a6hxt3rymbjy1ry/9%20Somewhere%20a%20Clock%20is%20Ticking.mp3?dl=0)

 

“Did you hear who I’m going to be working for the next few months?”  The hair on the back of her neck was matted down with sweat. Natasha took another drink from her water bottle and started stretching out after their sparring session.

Clint wagged his finger at her. “Go ahead, ruin the surprise for me.”

“Tony Stark.” She shook her head and sighed. _I’m not going to be able to see you for months._ _I miss you already._ “It’s like fucking Coulson knew we got together and that’s that. Different assignment, stat.”

“Guess he doesn’t know a good romance story when it bites him in the ass, Tash.” He followed her lead, going through a series of yoga stretches, groaning as he stretched down to his toes, his muscles protesting. “But from the sounds of it, this was in the works for a lot longer than two weeks.”

She frowned, stretching down until her palms were flat on the floor. “I mean. You probably have a point. And it’s a good assignment. I just like the ones with you better.” It was the closest she would get to saying she wanted him around. Wanting people around was dangerous, because then they left.  _ But not Clint. Clint saw that video in Budapest and he didn’t leave. _ Her frown deepened.  _ Then again, it’s not like he has someplace else to go to. He deserves better. _

“I, for one, will be happy to see you not get shot at for a couple of weeks.” Clint grinned. “Let me take all the bullets for a while, hey?”

Natasha stood up and punched his shoulder, gentle, no follow-through. “It’s not like I enjoy seeing you shot at either.” 

Clint grabbed at his arm, pantomiming great distress.  _ So say no. We could still run away together, you and me. _ He pushed the thought down, squashed it under other thoughts of  _ this life gives her a purpose, gives her a chance to work through her frustrations of what  _ they _ did to her. I can’t take that away from her. _ Instead, he smiled at Natasha. “Why don’t we go shopping, you know, get you some nice, boring pant suits. No body armor needed.”

Natasha punched his shoulder, harder this time. Clint just kept grinning.

~~

Natasha started her “new job” in Legal three days later, and things changed fast. She had to live in her apartment, go grocery shopping, go to staff meetings that didn’t include causalities. It was so normal and banal that she started wishing for something,  _ anything _ to happen at Stark Industries to break up the monotony. 

She got in touch with Clint maybe every other week. Every third when their schedules couldn’t line up. Natasha was thankful for the codes they had picked up together, they way they could talk without talking, send messages without others knowing. She couldn’t compromise her mission, lest Stark figure out her connections. But she and Clint could let each other know they were still safe, and that was good enough.

After a particularly long day of putting out legal fires, Natasha all but slunk into her apartment, sorting through her mail. Junk, coupons she would never use, credit card offer, more junk. She’d only had the mailing address for two months - where was all the junk mail coming from? Being normal was the worst. 

The last piece of junk mail was stamped “Lucky Arrow Offers Inc” and Natasha smiled, turning over the envelope and sliding her finger under the flap. The papers inside were the typical “You’ve won such and so item as long as you buy this product,” but she knew where to look. She skimmed over the page, picking out the code words from Clint. He had been busy the past two weeks, two different assignments, both of them went well, and he was scheduled to head back out to the field again. 

At the end of the page was a code phrase she had noticed in his other correspondence. It wasn’t one they had picked out together and she would have to ask him later. She assumed it was a pleasantry since it seemed to show up every time, regardless of the other contents of the message, his little way of signing their messages.

She didn’t know it was the closest he could get to saying  _ I love you. _

~~

Things got exciting at Stark Industries, putting Natasha on the trail of one Ivan Vanko. It was nice to put her physical skills to use, Natasha thought as she vaulted over one armed security guard, letting the momentum take her crashing into the second, who never stood a chance. The third thought he was getting the initiative, but Natasha spun to meet him, wire in hand. 

No problem.

But when she got the the inner control room of Hammer Industries and Vanko was gone, Natasha cursed her luck.  _ If Clint had been here, we could have gotten him right now. _ She tossed the thought aside and got back to the matter at hand.

~~

Clint’s phone buzzed in the middle of night. Fumbling, he grabbed the vibrating device, not recognizing the number.

**Unknown Number: Unlock your door. -N**

He paused, and then got out of bed, yawning. He walked to the door, and unlocked it. Natasha breezed inside, her feet quiet against the floor, still wearing her Black Widow uniform.

“Hey,” Clint said. He yawned again. “What would you’ve done if I didn’t answer?”

“Picked it.” Natasha shrugged as if that were the obvious response. She was taking off her Widow’s charges and putting them on Clint’s desk, along with her firearms. “But I wanted to give you a chance to feel like it was your decision.”

“Ok, but like -” he interrupted himself with another large yawn. “It’s two in the morning.”

“We got the bad guy, and I got to leave, so I left.” She unzipped her uniform, shed it like a snake shedding its skin, padded to his bed, and lay down, ignoring the voice in her head telling her she didn’t deserve to be next to him, didn’t deserve his attention. “Can I spend the night? Or have you gotten used to having the whole, luxurious full-sized bed to yourself?”

Clint grinned. “My bed is your bed, Tash.”

~~

The missions continued, the two of them working together more often than not. But try as hard as she could, Natasha couldn’t let go of the lingering thoughts that Clint deserved so much better until they were consuming too much of her mind to make her an effective agent. She had to do something. She went and talked to Fury that afternoon.

The next morning, Clint and Natasha were coming out of a brief training session when Fury came around the corner.

“Walk with me.” He didn’t look back. Clint and Natasha exchanged looks, and they fell in step with the director as he lead them to one of the mission briefing rooms. “Not about that, Agent Romanoff.” He scanned his fingerprints and then did a retinal scan for access, as Clint looked questioningly at Natasha and she mouthed, ‘don’t worry about it,’ in return. They did the same, fingerprint scan and then retinal scan and Natasha looked at Fury expectantly. Whatever was going on, it was big.

“It’s not big yet.” Fury read the look of Natasha’s face. “But I’m hoping you two can be the reason it stays that way.”

The maximum security briefing room was small, but the chairs were comfortable and the conference table was big. Clint dropped into one near the end of the table and settled in, tipping it back and watching as Fury brought up a screen at the front of the table, which displayed a map of west Africa. Abidjan was pinpointed in red.

“Abidjan, population 4.7 million. We’ve got confirmed Leviathan infiltrates on the Northern border. It looks like they are targeting the research station in the area, though their end goal is unknown.” Fury pointed to the screen as he talked, the image zoomed in to a picture of the building being discussed. “Regardless of what they’re after, we want to get to it first. They’ve already opened fire on civilians, and the French authorities are sending back up. We need you guys in there, and out of there, yesterday.”

And then they were on a jet and heading across the ocean. Except for some more briefing, they were silent, right until Clint laughed out of nowhere.

“What’s so funny?” Natasha looked at him, raising an eyebrow and wondering if she was going to have to complete the mission alone.

“Was just thinking about when I flew over to Russia. I never thought that I’d be sitting here with you today like this.” He grabbed her hand and held it, their fingers tangled together. His voice was low when he spoke again, and Natasha leaned forward to catch every word. “I wouldn’t change it for the world.” 

It was funny, Natasha mused as she squeezed his hand. When they first met, she had been ready to put a bullet through his head, nothing personal - it was just what she did. And now? She watched Clint as he let go of her hand to go back to testing all of his equipment, one piece at a time. He counted the arrows in his quiver twice. He smiled at her.

Now, she could come to him, could trust him to have her back even if she didn’t deserve it. Yeah, she was doing good now. She smiled at Clint and then turned and stared out the window, the ocean stretching below, beneath the clouds. But it didn’t erase the red in her ledger. It didn’t make her worthy of him. Her frown reflected in the window, but Clint was preparing for landing, and he didn’t notice. 

Three hours later, they had extracted the needed files and were standing behind some rubble, shooting at the guys shooting at them.

“Just like Budapest!” Natasha aimed her pistol, firing with calm precision in rapid succession, and dodging out of the way at the last moment. 

“I hope not.” Clint turned and covered Natasha, arrow after arrow flying through the air, hitting every target.

It, thankfully, was not like Budapest. Clint and Natasha were successfully extracted within an hour, making their total time in the air longer than their time on the ground. That was always a sign of a well-executed plan.

Natasha browsed the research documents while they were on the jet. 

“Anything good?” Clint asked. 

“Maybe.” Natasha chewed on the end of a pen as she looked over line after line. “This looks like some research on the super-soldier serum.”

“Like goddamn Captain America stuff?” Clint came closer, looking over her shoulder. The document was in French.

“Yeah. Like goddamn Captain America stuff. Doesn’t take a lot of thinking to guess why they’d want this information.” She blew out a little breath. “But it doesn’t explain why the research is being done in the first place.”

“That’s above my pay grade,” Clint said, sitting back. “That’s above your pay grade and mine put together.”

Natasha nodded. She hummed as she read. There was more, a lot more, but she didn’t know how to begin to explain the translation to Clint, so she stayed quiet, and she read, and she wondered when things were going to start to get worse.

Back at SHIELD headquarters, Nick Fury commended the two of them for their excellent work and gave them their new assignments. 

“I get to help babysit a cube.” Clint sighed that night as they lay in bed together. “Boy oh boy. Sign me up. I’m there.”

“What was that you said about when I started my job at Stark Industries?” Natasha was on her side, watching Clint. “Right. Pantsuits. Let’s get you a nice little uniform, hmm?”

“Not helping, Tash,” Clint said. He was more serious for a moment. “They didn’t reassign you though?”

Natasha winced, and nodded. She had kind of hoped that the previous, much more sexy activities of the evening would have distracted him a while longer. “I, uh, asked for some time off.”

“Oh.” Clint shrugged, didn’t seem bothered. But then he paused, his features neutral. “Like, away from here time?”

“Yeah, kind of.” She fiddled with a piece of her hair, brushing it back behind her ear. “I feel stuck, Clint. Like I’m running in place. And I figured - maybe I just need some time on my own.”

Clint stared. He stared at her face, at each line and feature and he looked at her with an unreadable expression. “Time on your own from here or -” He didn’t want to say the words, and she didn’t want to hear them either. She wanted to keep pretending that what they had could work, that she wasn’t a blight on his life, that he wouldn’t be better off without her. “Time away from  _ us? _ ”

She took a deep breath. She couldn’t let her voice shake. “A little bit of both,” she managed to whisper. Clint drew back like she had physically struck him and she wanted nothing more than to take his face in her hands and hold him and never let go, but she couldn’t. She knew he would do anything for her, and that he knew her past, but he still didn’t understand how deep that past ran. 

He was silent for so long that she almost took her words back, almost started to beg for forgiveness, when he did speak. It was quiet and too calm and it broke her heart. “If space is what you need, Tash, I will go as far away as you want me to.” He closed his eyes, and Natasha braced herself for whatever horrible things he would say to her. “I just wish you had told me sooner. I would have done whatever you needed.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha breathed the words out, and didn’t say anything else. She couldn’t, because then she’d take back everything she said and she would never let him go.

“I guess you know where to find me,” Clint said. He turned over in the bed and Natasha watched, her eyes running along the familiar lines of muscle and the way his skin stayed flushed for so long after they were together and she wished things could be different.

She sat up, having to physically push herself off the bed to force herself to leave. She couldn’t look back. The door clicked behind her, and she kept walking, heading to her room only long enough to grab the bag she had already packed.

The next two months were painful. She hated being alone, hated the silence of the small apartment she was staying in. And when she received a piece of mail from Lucky Arrow Offers Inc, she couldn’t bring herself to read it. She couldn’t bring herself to throw it away either, so it lay, unread, in the bottom of her bag.

The weeks went by.

~~

Natasha was at work. She sat, bound to the front of the rickety wooden chair, perched precariously close to the edge of the floor, watching as the man in front of her searched the nearby table for the proper instrument with which to threaten her. 

The situation was, in one word, tense. 

And then the phone rang.

The three men in the room startled, the leader nodding an okay for one of the lackeys to answer the call. He did, listened, and gave the cell phone to the leader. He listened, and quite quickly gave the phone to Natasha.

Her hands bound behind the chair, Natasha held the phone to her ear with her shoulder, listening as Coulson’s voice came over the dated device. “I’m calling you in.”

She looked around, the three men in the room staring at her, the two lackeys glancing at their leader for guidance. He was shaken from whatever Coulson had told him over the phone before he handed it to Natasha. None of them moved.

“I’m in the middle of an interrogation.” Natasha shifted in the chair and grinned. “These guys are giving me everything.”

The leader sputtered. Natasha shook her head at him, rolled her eyes and mouthed, “yes, everything,” as Coulson continued to talk. 

“Natasha,” Coulson said, his voice steady but with a hint of hesitation that Natasha didn’t miss. “Barton’s been compromised.”

Natasha’s blood ran cold. “I’m gonna put you on hold.” Time to work out the frustration of the past few months on the unfortunate men in front of her, she decided. And then, time to find Clint. 


	10. Behind Blue Eyes

[Behind Blue Eyes - The Who](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0832ml3cjxt1btx/10%20Behind%20Blue%20Eyes.mp3?dl=0)

 

Clint’s vision blurred and his pulse rang loud in his ears. He breathed, the room flashing in colors that weren’t there and he breathed, straining against the restraints on his wrists. “Gotta flush him out of my mind,” he muttered, and he breathed.

Natasha was there. It had been months since he had heard from her, but she was here now, handing him a cup of water, and telling him how hard she hit him to knock out Loki’s voice from his head. And goddamn it, he wanted things to be the way they were before. 

He was sweating and cold all at once and he looked over to her. “Do you know what it’s like to be unmade?” he whispered, the first words he had uttered to her in months.

She turned to him. “You know I do.”

Natasha sat down next to him, and they talked. She was so close and he didn’t dare lean against her. He just let his shoulder touch hers, the tiny bit of contact enough for now. 

Another thought had been bouncing around his mind as he gained more awareness of himself again. He started to ask, “how many agents -” and she cut him right off. 

“Don’t do that to yourself.” She looked at him sharply, and he watched her eyes linger. “We weren’t trained for this.”

And as much as he wanted to figure out where they stood, he couldn’t. There were bigger problems, like Asgardian gods hellbent on destruction and a distinct lack of people to fight against him. 

But he couldn’t help himself. “Why are you here, Natasha? You’re not a soldier. You’re a spy.”

Natasha looked again him again, her eyes brimming with emotions she wouldn’t share with him but that he had gotten good at teasing apart from their time together. After a beat, she said simply, “I’ve got red in my ledger.” He knew there was more to it, but he didn’t ask, not now. He just had to hope there would be time for that later.

~~

The nice thing about killing aliens was that it gave him something to think about, gave him a concrete goal and a way to redeem himself. Each arrow that hit its target, shattering bone and splattering gore let him know he was in control of himself.

The bad thing about defeating them was that it brought the quiet and gave him time to think. The first week wasn’t bad. Still exhausted from the after-effects of the mind control and the battle, he fell asleep just about as soon as his head hit the pillow each night. His sleep was quiet, dream-free, and somehow felt less restful than if he had been up all night with nightmares.

He kind of wanted the nightmares. He wanted to wake up in a cold sweat, the sheets beneath him twisted and thrown, the blanket kicked off the bed. Then he would know that he was horrified by what he did under Loki’s control. He didn’t know how to explain to anyone else how much he wanted the nightmares. They hadn’t shunned him, hadn’t made him explain himself, had just accepted him back.

Hadn’t asked him what Loki said when he placed that scepter against his chest and smiled. 

_ You have heart. _

Clint sat on the edge of his bed, the early morning sun streaming in between the blinds, his head in his hands. He didn’t think the words were a compliment. Not coming from Loki - he hadn’t need many examples to see that Loki twisted words and actions until they suited his needs.

No, he was sure Loki had seen what he knew was hidden deep inside of him, the piece that made him no different than his brother. Loki had seen his capacity for betrayal and he had said, “You have heart.”

His room was too quiet. Natasha had promised to come this week to talk and god, Clint was holding on to that promise. It got him up each morning, got him out of his nightmareless bed, got him to the shower and to his training session and sometimes, even to a meal or two. All the while, he replayed in his mind the way she had put her feet up on his chair when they went to eat after the battle, the way that she had rested a hand on his leg. She hadn’t said anything, but the others had been silent too.

No one had judged him. Steve Rogers had put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I couldn’t picture anyone handling that situation better than you did, Clint.”

Didn’t they see inside him? Couldn’t they look through his eyes into the core of his being and see how warped and angry he was, like a broken toy soldier, left out in the sun and melted into something that looked human but was not quite right?

He sat on his bed, his head in his hands, and he knew he had to do something, or he’d go crazy living with his thoughts.

_ You have heart. _

His phone rang. Clint looked at the device, wary, as though it would bite his ear. He clicked the call through and heard a voice he hadn’t heard in ages.

“Clint?” the female speaker was quiet, uncertain, scared. “You said if I needed to call you, I could call you. And - I need your help.”

Clint was already moving, pulling out civilian clothes from his closet and grabbing a premade go-bag. Finally, something to do. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Laura,” he said, hoping he projected calm and collected through his voice. 

~~

She gave him an address, and he was there in four hours. Being part of the Avenger’s Initiative had a few perks. The apartment building was old, wood rot noticeable along the sides of the building. Clint moved with purpose, and went up to the appropriate door, and knocked. After a long pause, the door opened with a creak that reminded him of his old trailer bed.

Laura was there, her brown hair in a ponytail half undone and her mascara smeared down her face in two trails of tears. The apartment was small and he could see the two kids sitting on the couch, snuggled next to each other, tired and quiet.

“Hello, Laura,” Clint said. He waved to the children, but they didn’t wave back. He supposed he looked too much like his brother to expect much. “I’m sorry for the circumstances that have brought me here.”

“Come in,” Laura said, her voice strained. Clint frowned. It sounded like she had been yelling. He looked around, but Laura shook her head. “He’s gone, for now.”

Clint came in and carefully stood near the kitchen counter, ditching the frown for a small smile and relaxing his shoulders, hoping to keep the kids at ease.

“I’ve got everything we need packed already.” Laura looked up at Clint, and she frowned, almost a reflex. He could see it in her eyes. She was calculating whether or not she could trust him. But she had seen the Battle of New York on television, and she looked at her kids. She had to trust him. “You said you could do it. Can you really help us disappear?”

“It sounds so arrogant to say I know some people, but - well, I know some people.” Clint gave a half apologetic grimace, half smile. “All I need to know is that this is what you want.”

Laura set her lips in a thin line, and, careful to keep her arm out of the children’s line of sight, she rolled up her sleeve, revealing an angry red imprint of a hand wrapped around her arm. “Yes. We need to go.” There were bruises where the fingertips would have been.

Clint bristled, and a flood of emotions he wasn’t expected surged up, trying to break free. His brother had done that to her. His brother, who, for better or worse, had been his only friend growing up, had given him a cupcake on his 17th birthday, had been his family. 

He didn’t know Laura, really. Barney had written a few letters, the two of them had talked on the phone maybe once a year. But if he was going to pick sides, Clint was going to side with the woman whose arm was marked by a man who was once his family.

“Let me help carry your things.” Clint grabbed the larger suitcase from by the door and Laura went to the back room and returned with two smaller bags and that was it. “I’ve got a car waiting.” He smiled gently at Cooper, the older boy, and Lila, who was two years younger. “Do you guys like horses?”

Cooper frowned and stayed silent, and Lila’s eyes lit up for a fraction of a moment before she, too, frowned and stayed silent. Clint nodded, hiding his emotions. He was not trained for this, but he was going to try. They deserved better.  

“Well,” he said, keeping his voice light and friendly. “We’re gonna go visit some horses. And if you guys like it, you can stay there. So let your mother know what you think.”

In the car, it wasn’t long before the kids fell asleep in the backseat. Clint played the radio to fill the silence, and to hold his tongue, because he wanted to ask her why she stayed, and he wanted to ask her what all his brother had done to them, and he wanted to scream to the world that he was not like his brother, couldn’t ever be that bad, but then his thoughts reminded him that he had done much worse than just leave a handprint on someone’s arm.

_ You’ve killed people, Clint. And you’re really going to tell yourself that you’re better than your brother? _

Laura broke the silence. “I just thought it would get better,” she said quietly as though she knew what he was thinking. She leaned against her headrest, eyes closed. “I just kept thinking, he’ll see what he’s doing, he’ll see how much he’s hurting them, and he’ll change.”   
  
Clint didn’t know what to say, so he nodded.

“There was always that glimmer of humanity he had and I wanted to believe he could change.” She still had her eyes closed and she sounded so tired. Clint wanted to tell her to sleep, that he would keep them safe, but he understood she was trying to be strong and he didn’t want to take that away from her. “It was like I saw this little light in him, trying to shine through all of the horrible things he’s been through. And I told myself, be patient. He’s had a hard life. He’s trying.”

Clint kept nodding.

“And then I saw you on TV,” Laura muttered. “And I realized that light I was trying to see in him - it was yours. You had the same childhood, you had the same chance to - to be something else, but you didn’t. You chose to help.”

He had to swallow against a sudden lump in his throat, and he bit back the protest that tried to escape his mouth, that he had hurt so many people, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that, to destroy what bit of hope she had, to let her down yet again. So instead, he said, “It’s a pretty nice place, or so I’m told. Bright. Sunny. Lots of land. I think there’s going to be quite a bit of paperwork, but when it’s in place, he’ll never be able to find you.”

“Thank you Clint.” Laura turned her head to the side, trying to get comfortable, to maybe rest for an hour. “We owe you.”

“Owe me, nothing,” Clint replied. “Send me a Christmas card and we’ll call it even.”

~~

By the time he returned home the next day, to his own room in the SHIELD headquarters, he was exhausted. That night brought the nightmares. He was trying to reach out, to save someone who was just in front of him. But every time he tried to help, to grab the person and keep them from walking into something horrible, they would scream and he would let go and see that red imprint in their arm, and he would back away, thinking,  _ I swear I’m trying to help. I just want to help. Please, let me help. _

And all the while, he could hear Loki taunting him. “You have heart.” But when he looked up, all he saw was Laura’s face. “You have heart, Clint,” she said and showed him her bruised arm.

Clint woke in a cold sweat, and he shuddered, trying to shake off the icy tendrils of the dream. He took a deep breath.

When Natasha showed up an hour later, knocking on the door like she was a regular civilian instead of a spy capable of picking the lock blindfolded, he let her in, his hair mussed and his eyes bloodshot, sandy with lack of sleep.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner, Clint.” She stood in the doorway, hesitating in a way he had never seen before. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“Tell me about it.” Clint watched Natasha watching him. He would never be an excellent spy, but he knew Natasha, could tell the subtle ways she gave herself away. He patted the bed, inviting her in. Or maybe she did that on purpose, showed herself just to him. “What do you think about horses?”

“Horses?” Natasha walked across the room. She sat down next to Clint, their shoulders touching and their thighs pressed together. It felt good. “Never thought about them. We didn’t really have cavalry training growing up.”

Clint was torn between laughing and frowning. 

“It was a joke, mostly. Go ahead, you can laugh.” She paused for a long moment, before sliding her hand over his. She spoke, meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry for doubting what we had. Can we - maybe start again?”

He took her hand in his. “Tash.” He studied her eyes, watched as they lit up with her nickname, even if the change was only noticeable to him. His heart warmed and, though it wasn’t easy, he pushed aside Loki’s voice. He had Natasha, and that had to count for something. “All you need to do is ask.”


	11. Take Me to Church

[Take Me to Church - Hozier](https://www.dropbox.com/s/rc0yrlbv49ighrr/11%20Take%20Me%20to%20Church.mp3?dl=0)

 

Clint raised his bow. He practiced, every day, hitting every target. The price of missing was too high not to practice. He drew back the arrow, he aimed, he released. It was second nature and yet, sometimes, when he pulled back on the arrow, the weight seemed to intensify, a sudden heaviness reminding him of every target he had hit, and it threatened to overwhelm him. 

Next to him, Natasha covered him with suppressing fire, hitting the targets and avoiding the civilian cardboard cutouts. Clint took a breath and cleared his mind as best he could, shaking out his arm in between arrows. Together, they pressed down the practice gauntlet, moving in tandem, anticipating each other’s every step and turn.

“They’re gonna make us practice with someone else.” Natasha aimed, hitting the highest target, the one that almost got her last time. “They’re gonna say we won’t always be together.”

Clint nodded, an automatic motion. He caught his breath, hands on his knees for just a moment at the end of the practice run. “They’re not wrong,” he breathed. He looked back down the course, and then at his hands, at his bow. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I first picked up a bow.”

Natasha didn’t say anything, just came closer and listened.

“You know when I first started, I told Fury I wanted to be like Stark?” he said. He had sat down on the ground, resting for a minute, his legs stretched out in front of his body. “I don’t think I’d give that answer again.”

“That’s hilarious,” Natasha deadpanned. “I’m sure that’s when he knew you were the best fit for the job.”

“I was a very competent groundskeeper, I’ll have you know. Could have had any yard to keep I wanted.” Clint wagged a finger at Natasha and she grinned, grabbing his hand and kissing his fingers. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“When Buck first had me pick up a bow, it was love at first arrow,” Clint admitted as they made their way out of the training grounds at the Avenger’s compound. Being an Avenger had all sorts of perks. “He was the closest to a father I had, next to my brother. Turns out neither of them were a good fit for the role.”

Natasha nodded as she listened. 

“When he saw I was good with my hands, he taught me how to pick a pocket. I -” Clint paused, looking at his hands. “I always thought that maybe somehow I could pay back those families. I think about it, sometimes. How they wanted to have a fun night out and instead ended up frustrated, upset.”

They bypassed the locker rooms in favor of heading to Natasha’s room for a shower together. Natasha stripped off her tactical gear as Clint started the hot water running and then did the same.

“I thought I could just … stop some criminals, return a few purses, make things right.” Clint watched Natasha step under the water and he couldn’t help but smile. She was beautiful, her back to him, the water darkening her red hair. “I guess what I’m saying is I never thought I would end up here.”

“With me?” Natasha teased, as she turned to pull him under the water. He stepped into the shower, spacious enough for both of them, but only just, and he pressed up against her, the water rushing over their skin.

“Yes,” he said. “And here.” He gestured to the bathroom, but he meant the whole place, the whole compound, the whole idea of being part of the Avengers. “Dealing with monsters and magic and who knows what else will come our way. It just has this way of escalating.”

“The world is -” Natasha paused, and her eyes went far away for a split second and Clint wondered if she was thinking back to her time in the Red Room. “There’s so much we don’t see.” 

Clint let out his breath, wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the way her body fit against his. That was something that he could savor, these moments together. He didn’t believe in fate, but he knew they would have never come together if he hadn’t said yes to Fury, if he hadn’t picked up a bow over two decades ago. They showered, Clint washing her hair and Natasha soaping his back. 

Natasha cut off the water when they were done, and kissed him, unhurried. Then they were moving to the bedroom, their towels lying forgotten on the bathroom floor, knowing that at any time, the phone could ring, another mission, ready or not.  

Clint pushed her, gentle but firm. She laid back on the bed and he pressed kisses to her stomach, teasing the skin above her hip bones, his erection heavy against her leg. He started to move farther down, one hand still reaching up and pinching at her nipples, a little rougher, a little harder, and Natasha arched up into the touches. She grabbed a handful of his hair, twining her fingers through the short length and she couldn’t hold back a moan when he pressed his tongue against her clit all at once, moving with a slow, steady pace that had her pressing her hips against his face and Clint groaned into the movement.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Tash,” he said, his voice a low rumble against her sensitive skin and Natasha shivered, pulling him closer with her fingers still laced through his hair. Clint teased her clit with his tongue while he brought his hand down below his mouth - and she was so wet, he felt her warmth and he wanted to bury himself in her, but he kept his focus on her, pressing two fingers inside her, her warm slickness inviting him in deeper. 

He fucked her with his fingers, finding a pace in time with his tongue and Natasha curled into the set of sensations, panting as he brought her closer and closer and then pushed her over the edge. Her hips snapped up almost involuntarily as she came, wave after wave of pleasant pulses echoing deep within her.

Natasha breathed out a “wow,” and Clint grinned as he came up to kiss her. 

“Every once in awhile, I get it right.” He paused, looking at Natasha and he realized he was about to say the word “love” out loud and he bit it back. She deserved to hear it. He kissed her again, on her cheek, on her neck, on her collarbone. He was afraid she didn’t want to hear it, not out loud, so he kissed her instead, so softly and gentle, like a lullaby. 

She smiled at him, running her fingers through his hair again, and pulling him closer, always closer. They came together slowly, putting aside their usual roughness for something more tender. It felt like  _ I Love You, _ and that night at least, Clint slept without nightmares, starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, his existence was good for more than harm, that maybe he wasn’t the toxic person he saw looking back at him in the mirror every morning.


	12. Not Broken Anymore

[Not Broken Anymore](https://www.dropbox.com/s/fdj790mva1dnuj1/12%20Not%20Broken%20Anymore.mp3?dl=0)

 

The thing about being part of the Avengers was that, thankfully, the Avengers weren’t always needed. Tony Stark went back to doing whatever it was that he did in his spare time, Bruce Banner went back to his labs, Steve Rogers joined up with SHIELD and Clint and Natasha went back to SHIELD as well, working with him on occasion.

“D’you know what it’s like to work with a childhood hero like that?” Clint asked Natasha one evening. They didn’t have a chance, these days, to see each other every night, but they made use of the time they could piece together.

“I didn’t have any,” Natasha replied. She was sitting next to Clint on her bed, the two of them half-watching some show on a TV in her apartment. She could have stayed at the SHIELD facilities if she wanted to, but she had wanted a change. “Not really, anyhow. They always told us about - role models. People we were supposed to look up to, because they sacrificed everything for the country.” She paused, thoughtful. It was the first time in years she had been able to speak of her childhood without bile rising in her throat. “Fuck them,” she added, with just a hint of glee.

Clint turned to look at her. “Dang, Tash.”

She shrugged with a smile. “Sometimes when I try to fall asleep, I still hear their voices whispering at the back of my mind, trying to feed me garbage about me being nothing. But lately, they’ve been much quieter.” She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking back to her field of flowers. It had been a long time since she had needed to go there, and she was happy to see the blooms were as bright and vibrant as ever.

“So much for a lighthearted conversation, hey?” But he wasn’t serious. He grinned right back at her, and she was thankful that he understood what she needed. 

“No, go ahead. Tell me about it.”

“I mean, I dunno. I already told you about the whole wanting to be like Captain America thing. And he was just this guy you read about in the textbooks and now he’s here. And he’s put his hand on my shoulder and I swear to god, when Captain America puts his hand on your shoulder, you’ll confess to anything, you’ll swear to be the best you can be. He’s like a -” Clint searched for a good phrase. “He’s like a grandpa, you know? Like how I’d imagine having a grandpa would be. You just want him to be proud of you.”

“Sounds like someone has a crush.” Natasha nudged Clint in the side, playful and unworried.

“Maybe just a little,” Clint teased back.

Natasha pressed her lips together, thoughtful. “He’s strong, fast, smart. I can see it.” Unbidden, the documents they had recovered in Abidjan came to the front of her thoughts, the lines written about the research on the super soldier serum and her playfulness became a lot more serious. “I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of an argument with him.”

Clint nodded. They lapsed into silence for awhile, content to be next to each other, sharing the same space.

“I wonder what it’d be like to have grandparents.” She couldn’t help but think about it, wonder about the people in the world who had to exist in order for her to exist. “Maybe Rogers is the closest we’re gonna get, huh?” She laughed, shaking her head.

“They do all sorts of things with genealogy these days.” Clint wound his fingers through hers. “You could always look into it.”

Natasha was silent for awhile longer. “Someday, maybe. People like me, maybe it’s best if my parents never know about me. Maybe they’re dead. Maybe they think that I’m studying at some prestigious university, working on a doctorate. Who knows what lies they told them.” She appreciated the way Clint just held her hand, didn’t try to placate her with meaningless statements.

“Someday then. Maybe you can bring me. I hear parents love it when their daughter brings home a steady boyfriend.” Clint put on his best smile and wave, tipping an imaginary hat.

“Hold on now,” Natasha said. “I couldn’t do that to them. First they find out I’m their daughter? And then they have to deal with you as a potential son-in-law? I wouldn’t wish that heart attack on anyone.” Her straight face would have been believable had Clint not learned to recognize the twinkle in her eye. 

“Yeah, yeah. Ok. You catch up with them first, and then I’ll pop in. We’ll have a signal. Like, if I hear your mom say something about how nice it would be for you to settle down.”

Natasha laughed, and sighed, all at once. She supposed they could be out there, her parents. But at this point, did the genetic material that she shared with them really bond them together? A small part of her nodded. She would rather know than not know. She didn’t have time to search for them now. It would have to be later. For now, she grinned. “Someone’s been reading up on their stereotypes, hm?”

Their shared lack of family was something that seemed to bond them tighter. Without parents to recall, with Barney no longer part of Clint’s life, they had chosen each other as family, and something about that made it feel so much more meaningful. Sure, Natasha thought as she leaned against Clint, her head on his shoulder, it would have been nice to know where she came from, but she had gotten this far on her own. She’d manage a little bit longer.

“So you let me know before you go to bed with Rogers, then,” she added, enjoying the way Clint’s face moved from shocked to affronted to smiling.

“Of course, Tash.” He squeezed her hand, leaned his head against hers. “I’ll let you know.”

“Poor guy.” Natasha relented in her teasing as she thought about Steve’s situation. “He’s all alone here too. I doubt his parents are still around. Maybe some of the men he served with are still alive.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Clint said, his eyes towards the TV, but his gaze was somewhere beyond. “Fighting to protect the world when we’re all so alone.”

“Not sure funny is the word I’d use.” Natasha stretched her legs out in front of her. “But yes, I agree.”

The sat, enjoying each others company awhile longer. When the episode finished, Natasha turned to Clint. “Hey. Thanks for not shooting me when you had the chance.”

Clint laughed. “Did I have a chance?” He put a finger to his chin and pretended to ponder. “Because I’m pretty sure I didn’t have a chance. I’m pretty sure you said something about, and I’m paraphrasing here, how I wouldn’t wake up if you ever saw my rugged, handsome face again.”

“Oh, so you memorized it, hmm?” She was smiling. 

“Yeah, I did. Got a good memory like that.” Clint leaned over and kissed her on the shoulder. “But seriously. I don’t think I would have had a clean shot on you.”

Natasha tilted her head, and Clint pressed a kiss to her neck. “Give yourself credit,” she said. “You haven’t missed yet.” She paused. “Maybe some time we could go back to the gardens and spend some time there together. Not getting shot at.”

“Dare to dream,” Clint replied. 

She nodded. “I think I will.”


	13. Automatic

[Automatic - Castro](https://www.dropbox.com/s/5h3cxusb3q52ro4/13%20Automatic.mp3?dl=0)

 

For how many times Clint had been in Fury’s office over the years, he still couldn’t quite tell what made the director tick. He supposed that was the way it was supposed to be, especially in the case of reporting to a man who wore a leather trenchcoat to work every day of his life.

Which, to be honest, made Clint wonder what kind of enemies were out there after the man. He kept his gaze on Fury, even as his thoughts wandered. One thing was for sure - he would never be gunning for the top position. Working grunt wasn’t glamorous, but it suited him. Let Maria Hill be a commander. He would stay in the trenches. 

“We’re still keeping you in reserve for STRIKE Team: Delta,” Fury was saying, “But we need your expertise in some other areas right now. It is, of course,  _ highly _ classified.”   
  
Clint nodded. He tipped his chair back as Fury gave him the bare minimum of details on his new assignment. It was ok. He’d figure it out as he went. 

“Dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.” Clint left the office and headed down to the practice area. He knew he’d find Natasha somewhere nearby and his instinct didn’t steer him wrong. She was training in the free weight section, doing squats by the mirror. 

“Another day, another mission.” He greeted her with a wave and, after she had racked the weight, a kiss.

“Save it for the bedroom, man,” someone said from the other side of the room. Clint grinned and waved. 

“Another day, another mission,” she agreed, grabbing her towel and wiping at her face. A few strands had escaped her ponytail. “I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to be seeing you for awhile.”

“Probably not.” Clint shrugged. “But I’ll let you know how to get in touch with me. If you need me.”

Natasha smiled at him. “You got it. Dinner tonight?”

“Let’s do something fancy?” He winked.

They ended up at Natasha’s apartment, Clint cooking pasta on the stove while Natasha arranged fresh fruit on a delicate pastry shell. He drained the noodles in the sink, adding sauce and making plates as Natasha opened the wine and poured two glasses. And then they sat at her little table, her foot against his legs as they ate and talked.

“It feels like the end of an era,” Clint said as she cut little pieces of the fruit tart and set one on his plate. “Thanks, Tash, this looks delicious.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, enjoying a bite of her own. “End of an era, hm?”

“I can’t quite explain it,” Clint admitted. He fiddled with his fork, and shrugged. “The winds of change and all that. I feel it in my old bones.”

“Old. Ha.”

“Practically a dinosaur these days. You’ve heard my back crack when I get up in the morning.” He made a show of rubbing his lower back with one hand.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and put down her fork, pretending to go for her cell phone. “I’ll get my physical therapist on the line for you.”

When they finished dinner, they didn’t even bother to turn on the TV for background noise. They just sat on the couch, and talked, and held each other. After a little while, Clint got up. “Hey. I’ve gotta grab something for you.” He walked over to his jacket, putting a hand in his pocket and coming back to sit next to her.

Clint pressed it into her hand, something small and delicate, and Natasha looked up at him. His blue eyes sparkled, like the sky above the ocean, and Natasha knew this, them together, was home, where ever they were. She looked down at her hand, feeling the charm before she uncurled her fingers and saw the little arrow hanging from a fine silver chain.

“I’m not really good with, y’know, this sort of thing.” Clint shrugged even as he smiled, and Natasha couldn’t help but return the expression. Her smile reached her eyes, and they crinkled around the edges. It was unbelievably freeing to smile and mean it. “Wow,” he added. “I think that is an honest to god smile, isn’t it? So I just have to leave any time I want to see one?”

She dodged the question in favor of wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. “Thank you, Clint. It’s perfect.” She could smell his hair, could taste the lingering bit of fruit on his lips. It wasn’t enough, she knew. They would never have a house with a white picket fence, never be tucked away from their duties to help protect the world. But they had each other and they knew it. 

He cupped her face with one calloused hand and his other rested on her waist, and he kissed her back, her lips so soft and gentle against his own. And the next morning, before they left for their separate missions, he stood behind her, watching her in the mirror as she fastened the little clasp of the necklace under her hair and adjusted the charm so it lay in the hollow between her collarbones. She turned to him and smiled, a sight that he knew he would never tire of seeing.

There were still so many words to be said. Maybe some day would be the right day for  _ I love you _ and  _ let’s be together forever _ spoken out loud, but for right now, they were two pieces of a puzzle that had finally come together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sharing Clint and Natasha's journey with me! I hope you enjoyed the story and the playlist! I fell in love with the story that the music told and was so glad to have a chance to write it. Enchantress0223 has such good headcanons as well and it was a pleasure to collaborate with her. 
> 
> Enchantress0223 is on [ tumblr. ](https://enchantress0223.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on [ tumblr! ](https://mystrana.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And don't forget to browse the amazing collection for the [ Captain America RBB 2017! ](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/CAP_RBB_2017) New works posted every day until July 4th, 2017.


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